On The Wing
by littlehideaways
Summary: The Rise of the new generation of Riders and the construction of a New Order are well under way, but will anything remain when a new threat awakens and sets its sights on Alagaësia?
1. Talentless

Hello there :) This is the first time in a long, long time that I've really dug in and written something and I _am_ a bit rusty, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyhow - this isn't the first draft but I might have missed some errors, please bear with me! I'm meaning to really finish this one, though, so some nice constructive criticism would be absolutely lovely!

_*Disclaimer - Please also bear in mind that I am not as much of an expert in these books as I once was and I'm only recently really getting back into the series, but I think I've got a majority of the facts correct, but again pointing out my errors to help the story improve would be great!_

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_I'm Bored,_ thought Miles miserably, as she flopped onto the grassy ground beneath a shady tree, her wooden practice sword tumbling out of her one good hand as she gazed up at the sky. It was as pure a blue as she'd seen around here, across in the East. It was usually painted in a blotchy, blank shade of cloudy pale blue that almost hurt to look at.

_Patience young one_ growled the dragon bonded to her, Eværín.

She huffed and rolled over, catching a glimpse of the flashing, colorful scales of the dragons in the distance, and picking out the familiar brilliant purple amidst the various colors; each of the shades shining and vibrant in their own right.

_Older than you_, she reminded him, still grumbling – even though she knew it wasn't exactly true. She knew not how long he'd been in an egg, but she knew that it was almost definitely a longer time than she was old.

Pushing the thought away with indifference, she reached out with her mind to join her thoughts more completely with Eværín's and share his sight, to see the landscape as he swirled through the currents of air and soared above the ground; to see things she'd seen it many times before with the sight and sensation of flying. It would never be something that failed to excite her.

_I've been patient all day,_ she informed him, huffing as he refused to allow her access to his vision, _Patience is boring, and tiresome._

_I am not your nanny,_ he growled, and she saw a sudden flash of a brilliant green dragon, some lengths bigger than Eværín, biting lightly at his hind leg, cutting through scales and drawing blood, though it was not really harmful; the kind of injury done amongst dragons during training as the humans, elves, urgals and dwarves bruised and bloodied each other in the name of learning combat. The difference was that the dragons could heal themselves more quickly if they truly wished or had the need to, though they were not likely to call on that ability for day-to-day injuries. On the other hand, a majority of Miles's peers were still not even yet aware of their ability to use magic. She, herself, had been forbidden to use magic until the others had been instructed in it. Though she'd hardly expect anyone to notice if she started showing up to the training fields each morning without bruises; no one paid much attention to her, anyways. She was nothing but another face in the crowd, if truth be told.

Much to Miles's jealousy, the dragons were practicing aviary battle tactics while their Riders were all in sparring practice. She would have thought that the dragons would need to learn such things with their Riders in accompaniment, as they would have to preform them with their Riders in battle – it would only make the dragons accustomed to the weightlessness on their backs, and they would then possibly then lament the fact that they would have to perform the techniques with their Rider on their backs. They would have to do another portion of learning _with _their weight, so it seemed counterproductive.

Not to mention it would have given her the much needed respite from sparring, more so than the incident that was currently keeping her out of the practice. She positively _despised _sparring; it had only served to make her muscles ache, coat her hands with sores, and make it painful to even sleep at night, much less get back up in the morning and practice some more. And it was all to no end – she _never _improved, or at least not significantly. Not in the entirety of the time she'd been training with the Riders. It was frustrating and painful, and she was more than sick of it.

The point of the matter was, she would much prefer flying.

So, she tucked her hands under her chin and pouted childishly as Eværín continued to deny her access to his senses and pretend she was elsewhere from where she was. She felt him distance his thoughts from hers to a thinner thread of awareness than she was used to, in hopes to motivate her back to more practicing through sheer boredom. Though, as she'd stated, she was already bored, and had no intensions of returning to the training fields with her blasted wooden sword to be humiliated while she could avoid it.

She had gotten her much needed escape from the training fields earlier that day in the form of a short tumble down the rock outcropping on which the training fields lay, earning her a broken arm – well, shattered, really. Dislocated her shoulder and broke her arm itself in three places. She was just a touch clumsy, you see, and she always had been, yet they had still expected to turn her into some sort of fencing master. _Honestly._

The training masters had not wanted to waste the energy necessary to heal the injury, though she was sure they were capable, as she was bound to earn herself multiple injuries by the day's end. So, instead, she'd been sent back to the main complex of halls that comprised something of her own personal hell to have it splinted, and she was to fence and train with her left hand when she returned, and to be quick about it.

Of course, the elves back at the camp offered to heal her arm, though she was forced to decline. A few of them stayed amongst the few halls that had already been built in the area, making progress on the bigger and grander buildings that would surely take years to build; the foundations laid down were positively immense, and that was with a group of elves working every day for quite some time now.

They helped her to splint her arm and insisted on a few small spells to help hold the break in place, and one to abate the pain, to which she did not protest. _The thing is splinted, that's close enough,_ she thought sullenly. It didn't hurt too much to begin with; she was so prone to accidents that she had long since developed a high threshold for pain.

She hardly believed that the training masters had really expected her to return dutifully to begin training again, as she clearly despised it and it clearly despised her. She was already prevailed by a sense of dread and phantom pain of the sure to be fruitless training in the hours to come, of restarting gods know how much training all over on her left arm; add that to the fact that she'd spent all of yet _another_ morning in the hot sun, _and_ in the stupid padding all the beginning swordsmen (and -women) were forced to wear. She wasn't exactly ecstatic or eager to get out on the fencing field and start trying again.

She was hungry, and she wanted to take a nap, and she would hardly be missed at the training fields, anyways – they'd probably hoped that she'd skip out; actually, she must be such a nuisance. She'd failed to move up with those who arrived with her, graduating from wooden swords to those of blunt steel and to lighter padding. She, of course, never improved, and they didn't want her clobbering someone to death on accident. She bet they wouldn't even come looking for her.

_I'm just going to take a nap, _she informed Eværín, though he was trying to feign deafness to her thoughts, she knew he'd be monitoring them most closely. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, resting her forehead on her folded hands, and allowing her mind to wander to thoughts of turbulent winds and wings, swirling colors and sparkling oceans as seen from high above, what she imagined the world would look like if she flew high enough….

She was jerked from her sleep by the feeling of claws scraping lightly on her back, grasping the vest-like pads she wore and lifting her up. _You could have just tapped me you know,_ she said, grumbling, and refusing to wake up fully. _Be careful with my broken arm,_ she added as, instead of waking up, she decided to utilize what seemed to be one of her true talents: the ability to fall asleep in almost any situation. It _really _came in handy during the lessons she was given on incredibly dull subjects, like anatomy; as much as she loved squirrels, she had found that she actually didn't care too much to name the various components of their spines.

And so, she simply fell back into a kind of stupor, for flying was _exceedingly_ uncomfortable, even by her standards. She only really registered the unfocused and watery blur of passing colors. _Well, I had wanted to fly, after all_, she thought blearily, her eyelids fluttering shut once more.

She wasn't so asleep, however, when she was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the training field, right amidst the various training masters who were, apparently – thankfully – taking a break. Gods only know what would have happened had she been dropped amidst a dozen or so sparing matches. Unfortunately, that meant that all attention was then focused on her; everyone had apparently gotten up when they'd seen Eværín carrying a sleeping girl up over the hill. The girl who had been sent to have a broken arm tended and had failed to return, not that anyone seriously cared.

She blinked away the remnants of sleep and found herself looking directly up into the eyes of Eragon Shadeslayer, the one who had essentially re-founded the entirety of the Riders, and winced slightly. He didn't look too terribly pleased with her as he stood over her where she'd fallen, clumsily as ever, into a sort of heap onto the down-trodden ground.

Looking around at the various training masters – several elves, a few urgals and a dwarf – they all had looks ranging from disgust to amusement to exasperation. While she was an honestly terrible fencer, and terrible about staying awake in the lessons to which she had no interest, she had hoped that her shortcomings learning-wise were not infamous, but rather lost amidst the several other students and _their_ shortcomings.

Judging from the looks, she was very, _very_ wrong.

Getting to her feet, Miles sent an exceedingly long string of choice swear words to her lovely bonded partner for life, to which he responded with the general hum of feelings that told her what they usually did; Eværín, in his 'moral high ground' as she'd taken to calling it, had thought as if he'd acted for the best. Which annoyed her.

She was sent back to the main dining hall where young Riders and those training them could dine if they wished, or to simply pick up some food and dine with their dragons or elsewhere on the surrounding grounds, and maybe fly a bit after supper or talk with their friends. While it was meant to be a city like that of the old Riders on Vroengard, it was still only barely constructed with the necessities needed to begin training the first generation of Riders after Eragon, and that left plenty of room to fly around the landscape and observe the surroundings.

She had to admit that, while the assorted halls and buildings were still in various stages of construction and decoration, they were still among some of the most beautiful buildings she'd seen, rivaling those of Ellesméra. They had the unearthly grace, fading up into the mid-afternoon sky in an almost fathomable pattern.

That didn't change the fact that she didn't like it here, at least not too much.

And so she scrubbed the dishes needed for supper and helped to stir the pots that were mainly manned by magic, half enjoying the solitude provided her by the task. As much as the place was beautiful, she had never shook the feeling that she didn't belong; she was something of an outcast among her peers. She was always last to be paired off, and always on the outskirts of the group, talking to no one, for no one wanted to talk to her. Whenever anyone had any choice, she was alone.

It was an odd feeling for such a lively girl, who had grown up on the streets of Dras Leona, albeit as a starving orphan; she was never even supposed to come in contact with a dragon's egg. Even if she had, she would have been the last person it would have been expected to hatch for. She had been passing the place where a series of children were lined up while in search of food one day, and had figured it another amusing street show, like those that she used to enjoy with her sister, before her sister had starved to death.

Nonetheless, she decided if she couldn't fill her belly that day as she'd hoped, she could at least do with a bit of a laugh. So, she joined the line, though it appeared to be for older children of about ten or eleven. Small as she was, she slipped between the ranks of children with no one noticing: she wanted to see performers as much as anyone else, why, they would hardly know she was there!

She was a bit disappointed at the time once she'd reached the front of the line after an hour or two of waiting, when what sat in the middle of the room was not an amusing performance, but a… a _something. _Something gem-like, sitting in some type of padded crate, and people ghosted fingers across its surface as they passed. Not the jolly singers and dancers or jugglers and tumblers she'd been hoping for. No bards or minstrels, just a dead silent square centered by the largest jewel she'd ever seen – an amethyst, was her first thought.

Well, if she'd wanted to look at colored crystals and gems she would have gone and looked at the jeweler's window, or gone by the stall in the market place that sells trinkets. Still, she decided, that she'd waited this long to see whatever it was, and she might as well get a look at it up close. She had nowhere to be, anyhow; there was no one to miss her anymore.

It was unlike any of the other gems she'd seen, though, mark you; that was not an overly large number. It was a brilliant shade of deep purple, and had inner webbing that looked to be some odd shade of blue; a shade she couldn't quite place, but she was sure she'd seen before. It was slightly warm to the touch, even as she ghosted her own fingertips across the thing's iridescent surface – like someone when they're sleeping. _Funny,_ she thought,_ gems always looked so cold._ She dimly remembered her mother crouching next to her when she was very small, whispering in her ear and pointing at some nobles as they rode past them on the street, riding in a jewel encrusted carriage._ "They were too many jewels, you see. The cold from the gems freezes their hearts. That's why they don't help us, love."_

One of the last thoughts she'd ever think to herself, and only herself, for as her curious fingers reached out and brushed the subtly warm surface of the object, it emitted a soft squeak.

The line stopped and Miles froze, her hand still outstretched in front of her, eyes wide as if caught in some wrongdoing. The elf standing next to the egg grabbed her arm in a gentle manner – for she had stuck it out through the line of children so as to remain unseen – and pulled her free of the other children so that she was revealed to all the room. She must've been the filthiest rag muffin of a child in the line, but as the object began to shake, Miles simply watched it and paid the crowd no mind as it watched her.

She was awfully curious, for she'd no idea what it was – had she won something, perhaps? She was excited; if so, she could go to the tavern down by the warehouses, the one that had cheap rooms and hot food and watered down wine that tasted like cherries and smelled like summertime. She could have a real meal for the first time in what felt like ages, and she could already feel her mouth beginning to water.

_And a bed_, she remembered thinking, _I might sleep on a real bed._ She remembered a dank and musty straw mattress from when she was very little, before the death of her parents and her decent into the streets, and she'd only really felt the sensation a few times on similar occasions. Whenever she was able to secure the money to eat, she would give whatever was left – if any – to the innkeeper, or if she hadn't enough, to the innkeeper's wife, and was sometimes given a room, if they had one. A special treat.

She continued to stare at the egg as, curiously, a crack appeared in its surface. The elf standing beside the crate crossed his arms, looking down at her intensely as Miles continued to look at the egg, her eyes glued. At some point while she stood in silence, the rest of the line had been assured out of the square, and she was one of five people who stood in it: not that she really cared who the other people were in it. Only that she got her meal that night, and she didn't even dare hope for enough for the inn's one feather bed. She'd never slept in one of those before.

After what was only moments, but passed in what felt like seconds to Miles, a small, webbed and slightly slimy wing broke free of the shell, the claw on its end no larger than one of her small fingers. It wasn't money, but a delighted smile stretched across her face all the same.

"Is it a magic trick?" She asked, smiling as only children smile; one part wonderment and three parts sheer delight. She turned to the elf that'd stopped her, though he held her eyes only for a moment as another crack snapped them back to the egg that was hatching. The dragon was almost completely free of its shell, and she took a tentative step forward to see if anyone would stop her. She made to help it out of the last bit of its shell – even what she had assumed to be a magic trick could use some help, the way she saw things. No one made a move to stop her first slow movements towards the small creature, so she proceeded with more confidence.

Harsh, in retrospect, that they knew what was about to happen once she touched the baby dragon and could have offered some warning, though it was necessary and bound to happen at some point. What could you say to a child on the subject that wouldn't absolutely terrify them, anyways?

And so, she reached out a small hand and touched the deep purple dragon, meaning to pull free the last of its deceptively gemlike shell – no less gemlike than its scales, she was pleased to note – and she could barely remember what happened next. She seemed to become immobile with white-hot pain. It shot up her arm, stemming from the finger which had come in contact with the dragon in a lightning-fast tendril that kept coming in waves, until the entire world around Miles had slowly been in a sea of a blinding blankness.

She guessed that someone had caught her, but she remembered nothing but what felt like years and years of blistering heat searing into her and being unable to move or even properly breathe under it; it grew and grew and sometimes dropped sharply, a spot of blue in a sea of white. However, it never plateaued into a bearable or determinable amount of time, but surged like the sea.

A number of hours later, she awoke to the kinds of smell only evening and the numerable cooking suppers could bring. She found herself, for the first time in her life, in a bed. A _real_ bed – a feather one, with linens and blankets, though she'd only been laid atop them. They even smelled _clean, _like grass, fresh wind and sunshine.

Her eyes snapped open with wonderment, and she made a few tentative movements to see if the pain would come crashing down on her again. Relieved when it didn't, she ran her hands along the smooth, uniform surface of the pale cream blankets and breathed in their deliciously clean scent. _What a sight I must be_, she thought, before wondering how she'd even ended up in such a nice, comfortable place. She allowed her eyes to close after a brief confirmation that she was, in fact, on a bed, and _wow_ now she understood why people liked them so much. She felt as if she'd never want to leave the comfortable mattress behind, though she knew she must, as it was obviously not hers.

She heard someone open the door, and walk through it, and cracked one eye. It was the elf that had stood by the crate, and he was walking towards the bed, taking from a leather pouch some strips of meat, and laying them down on the bed at her feet for reasons she couldn't fathom. She opened both her eyes and sat up, catching sight of the dragon from before gobbling up the meat at the foot of the bed.

Immediately forgetting everything about the elf, she made some delighted noise and dove down to the foot of the bed, petting the thing as she'd originally intended. She didn't quite make the connection between the pain that created Gedwëy Ignasia and the small, and rather adorable, thing. She had yet to even notice that she bore the silvery mark of the Riders on her palm.

Instead she watched, utterly fascinated as the dragon gulped down the entirety of the meat and coughed up a bit of smoke, stroking its head all the while and smiling her usual delighted smile. She looked back up at the elf, who was watching her closely, and asked "Does it have a name, sir?" in her politest, most grown up voice, and used the nice, proper-speak she'd overheard some of the ladies using in the markets.

He shook his head, but that did not crush her thrilled spirits. "Can I name him?" She asked, turning back to the dragon and picking it up as she'd seen other girls do ragdolls and examine it closely. "Is it a him?" She asked. Though being barely six years of age, and knowing nothing of sexes other than the fact that they existed, she wouldn't have known what to look for in the first place, but it had seemed like a good thing to do. The creature did not object, but let out a passive huff of smoke through its nostrils.

She gave it a renewed dazzling smile, as she was wont to do, and began to examine the small dragon more closely; she placed it gently in her lap, and stroked its back while she examined the scales. Each was the same shade of deep purple, as purple as her own eyes, which she found most curious. However, though scales were each a uniform color, they reflected the light as if each scale – being only the size of a fingernail – contained a hundred tinted mirrors in thousands of different designs, uniquely encased in glass to throw off the light. Even so, it was subtle; like the twinkling of stars in the night. Pretty, but not entirely distracting.

Satisfied with her study of the creature's appearance, though unsatisfied by her lack of knowledge concerning its name, she decided she wanted the elven man to speak. For he was certainly an elf, his pointed ears were prominently displayed by his tied back silver hair, and she had never spoken to an elf before. She wondered if he would treat her as other grown men had when she wondered around the streets during suppertime, once the streets emptied a bit, trying to guess what each inn was making for its patrons as she passed the mouthwatering smells.

So, she made up her mind to ask questions now and leave the discoveries about the dragon later.

"What happened?" She asked him, meeting his icy blue gaze with her own, and not flinching. "Where am I? Did you bring me here? You did, didn't you?" She said, and getting up off the bed, the dragon falling off her lap with an indignant squall as she hugged the man around the middle. "Oh, _thank_ you." She said her voice muffled as her face was half buried in the man's stomach, though she peaked out her eyes near the dragon to whisper, "Oh, hush."

The thing snapped at her, but remained silent. Smiling, she pulled back, but didn't wait for the man to speak. Always one to jump from idea to idea, especially as a child, she then decided that the man must have a frightful voice – for if he hadn't he'd've spoken already – and resolved that she didn't want to hear it.

Pleased and emboldened, by the dragon hopping onto her shoulder from the bed, though it was really no more than half a foot in distance, she spoke again, "Did I faint? Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir. But you must want your bed back, and here I've gone and mussed it up. I'll go now, my ma will be wond'ring where I am – "

With that, she set off towards the door. Usually anyone who wanted to hold her anywhere would let her go if she mentioned a mother looking for her, for only those who knew her knew she was an orphan. And, well, no one knew her.

But, again, as he'd done in the square when the egg had begun to hatch, the elf stuck his and out to stop her. "You're an orphan," He said, as if informing her of the news. She looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"I'm sorry sir, you must be mistaken," she said, "My Ma – she'll be wond'rin – "

"You're an orphan," He repeated, picking her up as parents do children four years her junior, and placing her back on the bed. "You're to stay here now, understand?" His voice was not unkind, and softened as he seemed to become surer of himself with the small child. He introduced himself as Vanir, and explained the differences between what she'd grown up hearing about the Riders on the street, and what was fact – well, the essential parts that a six year old would need to know. He told her that she was now a Rider.

He showed her the Gedwëy Ignasia that lay shining and silver upon the surface of her palm, and when the first tentative pokes of Eværín's – as his name was eventually revealed to be – mind began to connect with hers, he told her not to worry or put up a fight, though it frightened her terribly at first. And so, she gained her best friend and been saved from a life of squalor, instead traded it for this one. Lucky, she was. Incredibly lucky.

She was not even supposed to have been in the line: she was much too little to be trained up anytime soon, and so she presented quite a bit of a problem. For roughly five years – though like the blink of an eye for elves – would need to pass before she could travel east and join the newly founded "City" of the Riders to learn their ways. So, she was sent to the elves of Ellesméra to be watched over in safety and solitude until just such a time came.

She was placed in the charge of an older elf by the name of Lúthein, who taught her the Ancient Language, something she'd picked up right away and excelled at. Though she didn't begin to use magic until it was nearly time for her to leave Du Weldenvarden, she found she'd excelled at that as well.

They didn't use magic in training, not yet. Most of the Riders were fumbling magicians at best as of yet, for those who had been deemed advanced enough for it, which most hadn't. Those who were still working at their other skills didn't even know of their ability to use magic, but simply practiced techniques to fight against it. It was more than a little bit frustrating for Miles to be denied the ability practice one of the few things she was good at, and even deny that she was _capable_ of it.

For her terrible admonitions at the things that _were_ practiced, she was out casted. For that reason she did wonder on occasion if Eværín had made some kind of terrible mistake, but he was always quick to soothe the thought and set her mind at ease on the matter.

She couldn't really ever be consoled for too long, though. As much as she loved Eværín and was glad to be linked with him, she ached for the companionship she read about in the scrolls at Ellesméra and to make the kinds of strives for Alagaësia like those made by Eragon, the very first Rider, and by the Eragon whom she was currently dreading to be confronted by in punishment.

_Well that's a bit awkward_, she thought, grinning a bit.

Still, she wasn't a fool: there were few problems that needed that kind of fixing in the world that Miles lived in, and those that did need fixing were nowhere near the scope of those she'd read about, for the heroes of the past had done their jobs well. She doubted she would ever be as great as the Riders whom she had read about and idolized after during her idle afternoons in the woods of Du Weldenvarden, but she could imagine, and she could pretend.

So, she felt this whole thing was just a short of pointless. Why _should_ she fence when all she'll be in the pages of history was another nameless Dragon Rider, and others were so far better than she? She'd nothing special to offer. _"The Whore's girl"_ some had gone so far as to call her when there was no one to punish them, no more mature for being bonded to some of the most dignified and wise beings in history. Never mind not speaking ill of the dead.

In truth, she'd no idea if her mother was a whore or not – she liked to think not, but if she was, Miles felt that might be okay, too. Whatever she had been, her mother was a human, and that commanded respect to some degree; she'd raised two children best she could while she was alive, even if one later starved to death. So, she chose to believe otherwise; a seamstress, maybe, or perhaps a maid of some sort. She didn't think about it much, but it seemed to be a subject of great curiosity for those who liked to torment her.

Or, to speak more plainly, it was their main source of taunts and insults. Though she'd long since gotten over the bullying, she'd grown tired of fixing the usual smile upon her face for them, but she knew she must. And so she did, though it tired and bored her so. Her tormentors never tired of it, and she did not ever really feel like finding a more permanent solution to the problem. She'd rather spend the time sleeping, and preparing for whatever torturous physical lesson she would have to endure with humiliation the next day.

For all the time she'd spent in Ellesméra, she'd failed to pick up any of their innate grace, much to her displeasure. She wasn't complaining, really, because of the advantage in the Ancient Language she knew she'd been given, and the fact that she'd've probably been dead on the streets of the city by now had none of it happened. It still would have been nice, and would have made her life now eons easier.

And so Miles thought, and though and thought, until the sheer number of her thoughts could have compressed and melted the large, iron pot holding the stew right to the ground even as the fire below it could not. There was no other way to pass the time, as she'd nothing to read or do; she often found herself looking back on these things and reflecting, in any case; looking for irregularities, and finding where she was different from others. She found differences in many places; many more, she felt, than possibly was normal, save Eragon Shadeslayer and the like, and she wasn't sure she much liked it, or that it was the same kind of situation – actually, she was _sure_ that it wasn't the same situation. In her case, it wasn't a good thing.

She had always felt the presence of Eværín in the back of her mind, as if he sat audience to her thoughts in these times when she preferred to simply sit and allow the disjointed memories flow into a river and try to figure them into some kind of recognizable reflection. Now and again she would ask him for an opinion, even though she probably already knew it; thus was the strength of their bond.

_You are fretful, young one,_ he observed, as if he'd just awoken from a nap. She blinked her eyes, suddenly very aware of the fact that the sun had gone down, and soon she'd be faced with punishment. She didn't think it'd be too harsh, but it was still not fun to be caught in such a humiliating act, and before she was allowed to eat – that'd been a part of the instructions. Go back to the mess hall and help with dinner, await punishment, don't eat – she'd know the extent of the damage she'd done on her reputation. Fantastic.

At least she wasn't sparring – not yet anyways.

Suddenly she had a rather amusing vision of being made to do fencing drills amidst dinner, people slurping up bites of stew while she fumbled on the handle of the clumsy wooden sword and sweated in her padding. It would be funny, she had to admit, even if she was the butt of the joke. She probably was, already.

It was only a few more moments for the sun to dip down below the horizon, leaving only a small wisp of red light to guide home everyone from the training fields. It was a short distance to cover, and it wouldn't be long before the others began to return, so Miles got up off the stool she'd been sitting on in the corner of the room, and stood. Her joints ached from staying seated in such a cramped manner for so long, but she hadn't bothered to move. Her eyes, too, felt worn and sore, as if she'd gazed upon a thousand different scrolls during the course of the afternoon and attempted memorized their contents.

As a stream of people slowly began to trickle in, each looking tired and sweaty but pleased, and she felt jealous of the progress that showed on their faces. She stood off to the side, waiting to be addressed, dimly hoping that she might be able to keep the unassuming position and escape notice for the course of the meal, though she knew that would have been too lucky a break for her. It was as if she'd used all her luck in her early childhood, saving none for the rest of her days – which, now, as a Rider, would be quite lengthy.

She passed the time that everyone in the hall spent eating by examining each trainee and making her best guess on what they would spend their free time on, or who, and did her best not to envy them any more than she already did in their freedom and acceptance. She would have spent the time on her usual knoll of half-dried grass under shady apple tree, usually joined by Eværín. She'd read some scrolls if she was lucky enough to get her hands on them, maybe practice a bit of magic while no one was looking, or meditate. More often than not, she found herself simply sitting. It was the only part of the day she had really come to enjoy, and she was about to lose it – used up luck indeed.

However, it seemed she had just enough luck to hold off the confrontation until only the assorted elves, urgals, dwarves and humans who were assigned to train the first complete generation of Riders were in the hall. For that she was intensely grateful. Though she'd only humiliated herself, she knew her punishment would bypass that – she hadn't been the greatest student, but she could hardly apologize for her clumsiness that had crawled into every task she was assigned, and made it that much more difficult. Though association with dragons generally produced the side effect of a more able body and a sharper mind, she'd yet to experience such a help.

She stood in the corner, trying her best not to tense up – or at least, visibly so – as she was approached by a stream of training masters, with Eragon Shadeslayer at the head, presumably to speak with her. They reached her in what should have been at least a minute, but felt instantaneous, though as painful as if it'd lasted for years. She didn't bite her lip – a rather unfortunate habit she'd had ever since she could remember – and forced her chin up into a somewhat defiant stance, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Eragon-elda," she said, not waiting for him to address her, but bowing her head slightly in respect and choosing to use the respectful title that she'd been taught by the elves; it was something ingrained in her since the small age at which she had arrived in Du Weldenvarden, and the phrase felt natural as it fell past her lips. In turn, she then greeted the assorted training masters that had accompanied him to deliver punishment, though a few had chosen to stay behind and observe.

It seemed she was the big 'problem child' of the camp. How delightful.

Deciding to add the customary greeting of the elves, she spoke to the crowd of masters in general, but first touched two fingers to her lips to symbolize her respect and a pledge to unblemish the future conversation with lies, "Atra esterní ono Thelduin,"

Eragon, who stood at the peak of the group, though only just, raised his eyebrows delicately. He was still relatively young, especially by the elves' measure – a man of forty years, she guessed, though he'd the look of an elf. He was lean, with slightly rustled hair of brown and calloused hands revealed by rolled-up sleeves – something that distinguished him from the elves, they didn't easily scar or gain such imperfections; they were called the fair folk for a reason. He had a weathered look about him, someone who'd seen and known great sorrow, but he looked unbroken by it, and she'd never known him to speak unkindly; not that she'd really known him at all. For all she knew her thoughts could be widely off the mark and she would never be the wiser.

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Miles-finiarel*," he responded in kind.

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," she knew she was probably pushing her luck by adding the extra formality of the ritual greeting, but she was procrastinating the coming conversation, though no amount of greetings could stay what was coming – didn't mean she wasn't going to try.

"I was unaware that the Ancient Language had already been taught to you," he said lightly, studying her. Unlike the gazes of the other training masters, Miles didn't feel horribly degraded and insignificant when Eragon regarded her with the same kind of steady eye. It was a judging stare, but not an unkind one. She held his gaze with equal measure and responded in a steady tone.

"I lived with the elves for many years before this," She said, though quietly and calmly, as if she'd been commenting on the weather. It was most likely the first time that Miles had mentioned her stay in Ellesméra since arriving beyond the borders of Alagaësia; she did not wish to appear as if she sought special treatment because of it. However, it seemed she had received some from her peers regardless of the knowledge, as they'd taken to outright ignoring her existence when they could, and tormenting and insulting her when they couldn't.

"I see," He said, "I presume they taught you the Ancient Language, and some magic as well?"

Though she'd found it hard to believe that he had no knowledge of her journey and past, as there were, in truth, not many Riders as of yet, and she knew her circumstances a rarity; it was out of her own ignorance and she felt as if she'd caused those in charge of resurrecting the Riders much pain in deciding what to do with her until she was old enough to train.

"I'm proficient to some degree," She said, and inclined her head again.

"I see," He said, "I also presume you are expecting a punishment for your…" he paused shortly, seemingly looking for the right words to describe the incident of the early afternoon to fit the rather formal conversation, "earlier actions?" She nodded, this time less slow and reverent, and more like her normal self. Looking past Eragon, she saw one or two of the dwarves crack a smile. _I knew I always liked dwarves, _she thought fondly, trying hard not to smile herself.

Continuing with not much pause for her response, for he could've hardly seen the dwarves behind him unless he'd somehow acquired an extra pair of eyes, and then chosen to place them on the back of his head – which, she decided, would be foolish, as they'd've been obscured by his hair anyhow.

She felt Eværín nudge the back of her mind before she would let herself be too amused by the thought of where she'd place an extra set of eyes if she got the chance, with a quiet, slightly entertained _Pay attention!_

Blinking away the thoughts, and returning her full attention to the punishment being given, she hardly let herself hope that she would get to keep some of her treasured free time. She'd re-tuned into the conversation just in time to get the gist of the punishment, though what she heard made her heart sink in her chest.

"… you will accompany me during free time in the evenings for extra fencing practice," He said, though she hadn't a clue of what he might have said before that, or even what would have fit properly in front of such a phrase. Really all thought of it was clouded by the fact that she was right handed, and she'd just fractured her right arm, in no less than three gods be damned places. And now, not only would she have to fence every day and learn with her left when she'd been no great shakes with her right – or even _normal_ shakes – she had an extra few hours to add to the torture. The sheer amount of things that were undesirable about the situation caused a slight roaring noise to start in her ears, the way it always did when starting to feel overwhelmed.

_Fencing, _she thought, never more full of loathing for the action than she was in that moment. She did not allow the loathing to display on her face or to be revealed in her voice, something she felt she was becoming rather skilled at.

"For how long?" She inquired, regripping her hands behind her back with renewed strength; sure that the knuckles would have shown white had she bothered to check, Miles released all her emotions on her own hands to stay them from her words.

"Until I say they might be discontinued," he said.

She nodded, "Is that all?" She asked, unlocking herself from her stance as if preparing to leave the hall. He nodded, but beckoned her to follow him. She felt her heart start to pound slightly faster than it was only a few moments before. Not even one more evening of peace before what was sure to be a long, enduring anguish. _Better to just get it over with, I suppose,_ she told herself, stiffening her resolve before beginning to follow. It looked as if she was going to become competent with a sword whether or not she liked it by the time this place was through with her. The group of training masters scattered throughout the hall, then; some back to their suppers, which had long since grown cold, and some to collect their things and leave the hall in their stead.

Swallowing an apprehensive nervousness that tasted somewhat like bile, Miles followed behind Eragon, overtaken by a feeling of dread. Though she felt Eværín in the back of her mind, sending her soothing images and attempting to calm her nerves, she did her best to shut him out; his comfort wasn't something she was sure she could really handle at the moment, but the attempt was appreciated, and she told him so before retreating from their connection. She felt this was something best confronted with as minimal thought as possible, and whenever Eværín shared her thoughts she did just that; think. So, it was better their connection remained untouched, at least for a little while.

Acknowledging her, he also retreated, sending her an image of the open sky and then the usual knoll of dried grass and an apple tree; if she had the time when she was finished, he would meet her there, she interpreted. But first he was going to fly, probably with some of the other dragons whose Riders had chosen to dedicate their free time, most likely, to studying or something of the kind. She felt an intense envy for them all – flying without care, or boredly pouring over some dusty, ancient scroll assigned to them about some subject they most likely cared nothing for. Nice, pleasant things that did_ not _end with her on her arse, coated in bruises, forced to swallow her pride.

She followed the tall man for nearly ten minutes in a thick silence as the sun went down. It was getting increasingly dark, and she wondered if he meant to have them fence in the darkness. Surely, with someone of her clumsiness, that was not a wise idea? She was bad enough in daylight. She'd barely opened her mouth to ask him before promptly closing it when he turned to face her; they'd arrived in a sort of irregularly shaped clearing surrounded by pine trees.

He held out his palm, and with a spell spoken at a speed in which Miles was only able to register that it was, in fact, the Ancient Language, he summoned an orb of light and placed it on the edge of the clearing. She recognized the unblinking werelight, and understood; she, herself, was familiar with the spell and began to summon small orbs herself, placing them around the clearing in the opposite direction of Eragon, so as to light the place that was to be her own personal humiliation and nightmare – even more so than this damned camp, or city, or whatever it was, was already – and hovering them all just above her waist to provide sufficient light to illuminate any strokes that slashed down from above shoulders. She didn't suspect any such blows would be occurring at her beyond mediocre level, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared.

Apparently Eragon had not noticed her actions, and raised his eyebrows once more when they came into his sights, but he commented not and instead he walked briefly into the forest beyond the clearing. Miles waited patiently amidst the light, not following and glad to prolong the period of time which would not involve sparing.

She'd grown up hearing stories of Eragon's slaying of the maddened Rider turned usurper, who had single-handedly whipped out almost the entirety of his own order, and drove what small slivers remained of it deeply into hiding. She briefly wondered why the man standing before her was still, then, known as a Shadeslayer instead of a Kingkiller. Surly the latter held more prestige?

She supposed it must be some kind of personal preference, or perhaps people had just found that 'Shadeslayer' flowed more easily off the tongue than 'Kingkiller'. She had to agree with that statement, as 'Kingkiller', while it sounded deadly, also rang of condemnation on its owner and tasted something like poison as it clung to her teeth.

She felt intensely relieved that he wasn't having them spar with actual swords, as he did with the more advanced Riders and Masters during daily training; her blade and meager skills were no match for that of a real Rider by any means. Even if her skills were, she doubted if her blade would hold up against the blade of an accomplished Rider, as most blades were not.

Hers was a plain silver blade and wire-wrapped hilt, and a small crystal pommel; it was thin and lithe to suit her smaller size, and made of plain steel rather than the brightsteel which comprised the Rider's blades, though most were lost to the ages. Though her blade, too, was of elfish make, and she'd no doubts that it would serve her more than sufficiently should she ever really learn to use it. It was as yet unmarked, though out of inexperience as opposed to any magical properties.

She had found it rather ironic that she'd been so excited to acquire the blade when she was younger, living in Du Weldenvarden, though her and her caretakers both knew full well of her utter lack of coordination. Sometimes she snuck out to practice various techniques she'd spied the elves practicing on their training fields; she would almost always drop it and be discovered, though she had never been scolded too harshly for her childish excitement. She had never much understood why the elves had been so intent to keep her from weapons due to her age, but they had done so most arduously; however, she had suspicions that they'd let her try small bits of it to test her potential. She was sure that whatever they observed told them enough to know that she was absolutely hopeless, and probably amused them to some degree.

Perhaps that was why she had spent so much of her time becoming proficient in other fields that would become important to her education; namely the Ancient Language and meditation. She was sure it would come in handy, eventually, and spent most of her time at the present weathering the terrible physical aspects of her training, failing miserably at almost everything save those involving flying and sometimes archery, and looking forward to the day when she wouldn't seem like such a terrible waste of time.

Though, as her luck was yet _again_ fantastic, they didn't practice archery but once or twice to learn the basics, and she'd managed to get her hands on one for practice at other times. It was considered cowardly to kill an opponent with an arrow, and Gods know that the lovely, self-righteous and ever-honorable _Riders_ would never _dare_ use such a mundane way of combat and hunting!

Needless to say, she found the contempt shown by some for the weapon rather trying; they'd been told it would do in a pinch, though they'd likely not find themselves in a situation where they would need one and have it within reach. While some of the Masters had seemed to share her opinion of the weapon, her peers were still too caught up in themselves to pay much attention once the practicing of any one weapon was under way.

As Eragon returned to the clearing with two sticks taken from the ground some distance away, carved roughly by his own hands into rather poor imitations of the practice swords – poor imitations only due to the excellent ones at camp, to clarify – she felt the trepidation return to her stomach. He tossed her one, and she had to resist the urge to fall down upon her knees and thank her lucky stars when she actually _caught _it; any assertions of her clumsiness, I can assure you, are in no way understated.

Despite futile attempts to quell her nervousness, Miles said nothing to the man, but merely took the stance that she had assumed on a near daily basis over the past two years that was just about the only thing she had been able to learn to complete satisfaction. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at her 'opponent' – or master, or whatever.

He was studying her with a close eye once more, and Miles got the impression he was thinking something over – he must have been expecting to light the whole clearing, though he could've done with one large werelight; the fact that he'd chosen instead to use smaller ones told her that he was no more looking forward to her inelegance with the blade than she.

After a long moment, he took his stance with much more comfort than she had, and they both stood sideface with their blades pointing downwards at the ground, ready and able to be whipped about in any direction at a moment's notice. Or at least that was what she was told. She doubted she should be whipping anything anywhere that had a harmful edge, even one as seemingly innocent as her 'sword'.

Neither of them moved for several long moments, neither wishing to make the first move. Miles refrained from striking because she knew it would be nothing but a clumsy and embarrassingly obvious and most likely poorly executed move, and would earn her another bruise to add to the day's collection. She could have healed them, of course, she knew how – but that felt like cheating, somehow. If she was going to be so poor at learning, she felt that paying the price in pain was at least an acceptable form of comeuppance.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was biting her lip to stay the anxiety she felt gnawing in her stomach. She knew that the person who had killed someone – or many someones, in fact, including a someone capable of overthrowing the entirety of the Riders – would be striking to start the 'duel' in a matter of moments, or maybe even seconds, and the thought was off-putting. She wasn't about to bring the moment of that any closer by initiating it herself.

When it came, it came without warning. She knew well to look for the signs of when someone was going to strike with a sword, observation being one of the things she was good at; extending past even her stay with the elves, she'd grown up on the streets and had to know what to look for when someone larger than her was intending to strike. She had long since learned where arms would tense and where the beginnings of a twist in either direction were usually apparent, and she could usually at least step out of the way. She was unable to use this for a majority of the time, as it was generally seen as cowardly among her peers, and gods help anyone who doesn't have the kind of sizable honor that can barely fit through doors.

The seeing, though she doubted she'd be able to catch so much as a glimpse of elf-like speed, was no good to her; the she did not see so much as a flash of the stick as it cut through the sky of navy edged in darkness. Not, that is, before it appeared in her left field of vision. She stepped back, but the step was ill-timed and only served to put her off-balance, and did not free her from the path of the stick. Her cheeks burned lightly with shame as it landed on her shoulder with a sharp _thwap!_ She didn't wince at the blow, though it bruised instantly – the worst kind.

"Have you enough energy for this?" he asked, his tone not exactly concerned or inquisitive, but remained light. Her actions were slow, as oft moves were when one had grown fatigued, but, embarrassingly, that was just the extent of her lack of skill, as much as she wished she could blame it on low energy stores. She shook her head, pulling out a small purple stone hanging on a plain leather thong around her neck; though small in size, she'd been storing energy in it since the elves had taught her how, and it would be enough to use in a pinch, at least.

He nodded, but Miles thought she could see a small glimmer of amusement gleam in his eyes as he took up the beginning stance once again.

"You're over-anticipating the blow, stop thinking about it so much," He said, instructing her, but did not elaborate. Choosing to think through his words for a small moment before shifting sideface once more opposite him, Miles nodded. She knew she'd really have no choice other than attempting such observation, due to having no experience with her left hand – in short, since she couldn't preserve some dignity with simple avoidance – as it appeared she couldn't – she was doomed.

Slowly they set into a sort of rhythm as the evening wore on. They would usually only get a move or two into the 'duel' before he would land a blow on her, marking the spot with a bruise, and then they'd stop and restart. Occasionally he offered advice, but nothing really improved her skill much. Well, she had hardly expected to become some sort of a master swordsman in one evening, no matter who was teaching her.

It was only when the sky, which had grown from soft and golden-edged to navy and now to black, gave away how late the time was that she was told to stop. Gratefully, she undid her spells, keeping but one light to light her way back to the bunks that she shared with all the training Riders. She looked forward to just lying still for a few hours, even though she knew she would be unable to sleep, before being forced to do preform the same actions all over again tomorrow. She would cross that bridge when she came to it, for now it would be a luxury to just lie still and allow her abused muscles to recover for a while.

The two walked in the same mutual silence back to the hall before departing in equal silence. Miles didn't take too well to the quietness that seeped into her skin during their walk through the forest, leaving her feeling more sticky and uncomfortable than training ever could, but she couldn't for the life of her think of something to say that wouldn't sound completely doltish. She was sure he already thought her an idiot; skipping out on lessons and her lack-luster swordsmanship, if it could even be called that, and the list went on. Looking back on her move to use the Ancient Language in the mess hall earlier, she felt as if the move was pretentious and probably looked specially designed to showcase the years she'd spent among the elves.

Doing her best to let her delayed embarrassment go, she found herself, upon reaching the makeshift bunks located next to the mess hall, locked out. She might've felt angry or even disappointed had she had the energy, but her stomach's growling and the drained feeling that magic still gave her let only exhaustion flow through her mind. She didn't even feel like using some of the stored energy in her sword's pommel to unlock and then relock the door; it was probably guarded against magic of the kind by far more gifted people than she, anyways.

So, instead, she awoke Eværín, and shared with him her predicament. Agreeing to her purposed plan, he met her where, had she been given her way; she would have spent her free time earlier that evening. And, after a quick supper that consisted only of a rather small, early-season apple and a few sips of cool water from a nearby stream, she settled down on the dry grass, and leaned up against Eværín's warm side, for he had arrived only moments before.

She fell asleep surprisingly quickly, succumbing to a dark and restful sleep the kind of which she hadn't had in ages. The heat from Eværín soothed her aching muscles so greatly that even the awkward arrangement of her splinted arm could not keep her from fading into her dreams. Perhaps it was the simple absence of the snores of her fellow Riders, or the lack of walls around her and a cot beneath her. A number of differences between the two spots and sheer abnormality of the day, she decided; the last thought before sleep really overtook her.

She was, in the dream, identical to the way she found herself now, only awake and approaching the tree, as she might have earlier, had the day been like any other. She could make out the same dull tunic and leggings, but her arm was splinted and her hair was bound up – though that something that she never did, as her curly hair weighed too much for most ties. Pausing only slightly on this detail, she refocused on the scene, looking for more abnormalities. She was conscious of being within a dream, though her vantage point of the scene moved from that of some third party into that of her dream-form at a dizzying rate, and she was having a hard time keeping track of even small details; for all she knew, the sky could have been green and the grass blue!

The fact that she must have made this same walk hundreds of times kept her on course, but it wasn't until she reached the tree that the twisting lines of vision stilled and separated. Regaining a sort of bearing for her surroundings, Miles noticed a small, slim figure in her usual spot; in the small nook formed by at the apex of two roots, winding from the base of the tree and curling downwards before disappearing beneath the ground. Seated there was a small child, a girl, with long and glossy golden curls woven with a small purple flower. Her eyes were slanted and amber-colored, the clothing she wore nothing more than a glorified nightgown, worn, tattered and torn in several places. She knew not what it was, but got the distinct feeling that it wasn't human.

_"You're in my spot," _she heard her dream-self inform the thing. The child gave her a small, cat-like smile. She turned from the dream-self and looked straight into Miles's eyes, from where the girl felt herself newly settled on the wispy edges of the dream.

_"Seek to free a foolish spirit were disasters become connected,"_ she said, _"For only there can solace be found and true aid given. Then proceed to the place where it all began, and there you will find the things which you seek."_

Before she could really comprehend the words spoken by the small child, she felt herself thrown back and begin fall amongst a sea of wispy, cloud-like dreams, all dipping, waving and drifting through her unconscious mind, and each more fail and insubstantial than the last. Falling into one filled with a familiar stretch of forest and the smell of summertime air, she quickly forgot about all that had just transpired, unnerving as it was. _Just a dream_, she dismissed it, promptly forgetting all about it.

* * *

_*finiarel – a suffix for a young man of potential as stated in the series, however, there was no female counterpart to the word, so I just decided to use it in the same context (correct me if I'm wrong there?)._


	2. Punishments and Revelations

Hopefully I did better on the spelling/grammar/etc this time! I had a friend look over it before I uploaded it.

* * *

It was, of course, just Miles's luck to have overslept the next morning. The others, having found her bunk still empty when asked about her whereabouts – for they'd have never cared enough to check on their own, of that she was sure – had no clue as to where she could be. She only ever came to the tree where she'd spent the night alone, after all. Not as if anyone had ever asked where she was going, or even really noticed her leave.

_I could just disappear, and no one would miss me,_ she told Eværín sleepily, not surprised or awake enough to care, as she hurried to the training fields. She did her best to blend into the edge of the work already underway, and hoped to go unnoticed; though, she'd always had all the subtlety of a band of lumbering Urgals – no disrespect intended, but it was true.

So, she met her fate with a grim smile, as she was instructed to await further punishment for her tardiness, and no less than a day after her other offense. _Great._

The day went exactly as she'd expected it to be; she went through the morning exercises as best she could with her left hand, earning almost twice the usual number of bruises and feeling her arm tightening twice as fast and burning twice as much with the effort. By the time everyone broke for lunch at noon, she could hardly feel anything of her arm besides the burning in its muscles, and she didn't expect to have very good control over it during the afternoon – of course, that would imply that her control over it was previously somewhere along the lines of normal.

She was relieved when, after the short lunch break, the training masters announced they wouldn't be sparring any longer for the day. As opposed to taking up more academically inclined lessons, as was the usual when such a thing was announced, they were going to be playing a game of sorts. Not that anyone had any objections, though Miles was highly skeptical that it would be an actual, _fun_ game of any kind; not that she was about to speak against something that would get her out of fencing, even if her voice would have been heard – which, it wouldn't have.

Instead, everyone stopped and listened with rapt attention; the training field went so still that Miles would have sworn that the waterfall, located a short flying distance away, had momentarily ceased to fall. No one wanted to miss an instruction and consequently miss a new chance to excel past their peers.

It was announced that all the students were to be sorted into two teams, and each would appoint a captain to lead them. One team would be assigned a territory to defend, and the other would be charged with the task of breaching it. Weapons would be blunted, but blows not softened. Weapons already awaited them, dipped in an everlasting red paint that would mark 'victims'; if a 'wound' was judged to be incapacitating or fatal, said person would be 'killed', and would be made to sit where they'd been 'struck down'. When enough of the students were 'killed', the game would be over and the victory awarded by the training masters to whomever they deemed appropriate; however, there would be no prize for winning, and no penalty for losing.

What small relief she'd felt left Miles. This mightn't be sparring, but it sounded about ten times worse. She would hardly be allowed to use magic, and she was unable to use a bow with her broken arm, which would be the one way she felt she would ever be useful in a battle setting. Warily, she reached for a blunted spear dipped in red ink when everyone was dismissed to collect a share of weapons. She grabbed a few throwing knives and tucked them into her belt, though the blunted versions were not really knives at all; it would be foolish of her to carry absolutely nothing else to use. At the very least, no one knew she _couldn't_ throw them, which was more than everyone knowing just how deficient she was with a sword.

Leaving the other weapons untouched, she faded to the edge of the crowd as quickly as possible – any other remaining weapons would be better utilized in another set of hands.

She was grateful when it was made apparent that those in charge of mediating the game would be sorting them into teams, rather than the students picking their own. She knew she would then be the last to be picked, humiliatingly, had the latter choice been the reality of the situation. Instead, she was simply tapped like the others, and walked with the group towards the indicated side.

She didn't participate in the task of electing someone to lead their group, instead choosing to hover around the edge of the group just enough to be an identifiable part of it, and leaving that particular job to the others on her team. Her opinion would have been no more heard by her peers than by the training masters on the best way to win a duel; in any case, and she was obviously not going to be the one chosen, even if she was the most eligible for the task, which she was obviously not. She might as well save her breath for the fight (or 'fight') to come – she would most likely be needing it, along with any other help she could get.

While the two groups were occupied, she devoted her attention to the masters setting up various traps around the terrain to trip up the students, and made a mental note to avoid those places. They weren't serious or injuring, but would render their victims 'incapacitated', and Miles was determined _not_ to be the first one struck down in this game, though she thoroughly doubted that she would be one of the last standing. She was bound to have been marked as a weak target by just about everyone from the moment the game was announced, and for good reason; it would be wise to get her out of the way of the game, along with some of the younger and less experienced students, so that more skilled displays of combat to go unhindered.

She let out a long sigh, blowing her bangs off of her forehead and turning her attention to the sky. It was still just barely after midday, to her dismay, and she was already wishing for evening – at least that was a _private _kicking of her arse.

_At least they won't completely overlook you,_ pointed out Eværín, who was quite interested in this new 'game'. _It would be worse, would it not, if you _were_ the last one left to defend your terrain?_

_Well, if only more than half of the other force is 'killed' I should think that the other team would win and end the thing there; but I know not how long they really intend to let the game go on. In a realistic sense, yes – it would be terrifying; a last stand, the kind of things Bards would sing about… assuming someone tells one the tale, which no one probably would… _She responded in agreement with Eværín's point – being the last one standing would be a frightening thing to behold on a true field of battle, though that wasn't exactly what he'd meant – here would be terrible just because she _would_ then be the main target, something she had nowhere near the skill to deal with. There, well… she didn't want to think about it. _ I don't think this is constructed to be very realistic – what if you were guarding something of vital importance – something you would die for? I suppose someone would have to escort it away from the field of battle, and that would take away from the exercise…No, I think it's more of a break in the usual pattern of things, which is nice._

She chewed on her lip, her arms folded defensively across her chest, as her group came to a consensus with an aching slowness. It was actually quite amusing to her how long it had taken to choose a leader from amongst them; everyone had wanted to be the leader and lead their group to victory, and each clearly thought themselves the most qualified for the job; however, none would outright nominate themselves. Each time someone tried to assert themselves, Miles would take a break from her own thoughts to crack a small smile. Looking around, she found some of the training masters were also amused. Everyone had been so wrapped up in securing a spot of leadership that they hadn't even bothered to notice the traps being set up; no traps had been mentioned in the conversation, at least, though that might not be a good thing to judge by. Perhaps that was the whole idea of the traps, to begin with.

If that was the case, she would have to give her training masters a round of applause; it would be brilliant to watch her peers stumble over traps and unwittingly be knocked out of the game.

Scanning her surroundings one last time, she gripped her spear and turned her attention back to the group in full. They'd chosen a tall, well-muscled boy of sixteen to be their leader; Miles dimly remembered his name to be Thaddeus. He had hardened dark eyes and dark hair that fell across his forehead in a jumbled mass. He'd come to begin his training shortly after Miles had, but she didn't know him too well; only that he was from a small town on Woadark Lake, and still had some family there. She doubted if they'd ever spoken more than once or twice, if that.

He was addressing the group of roughly ten other Riders, giving orders with an unexpected authority on the arrangement of their defense; she was impressed despite herself on how politely, but firmly, he declined any bits of advice offered by the others in the group. He put them in a formation that protected their 'camp' – a small area of no more than twenty paces across – from intrusion on all sides.

It was only after everyone had taken their stations that Miles realized she hadn't been given a place to help, and walked up to him. She didn't have any inhibitions about speaking her mind to the boy, though he was roughly half a foot taller than she. "You haven't given me anything to do," She said, her voice clear and staring at him without flinching. Neither was intimidated by the other, and neither of them spoke a word for a long while, but waited to see if the other would break under the weight of a strong gaze.

"Your orders are to stay out of trouble," He said simply, his hardened expression relenting after studying her for a small moment longer, casting a pointed look at her splinted arm. She watched him with a rising incredulousness as he stalked off with no further comment, making to join the front of the defensive circle which was the land's highest point of elevation; though not by much. The training field was on relatively level ground, which was good for fighting, however, it was bad for someone to observe the fighting and administer orders, and to follow the tide of battle as commanders must. Though what they were about to engage in, she felt, would hardly be defined as battle.

Still, her being so blatantly left out of the arrangement enraged her, despite her poor skills and damaged limb, though she knew it was probably the best option for everyone involved. It was still hurtful and embarrassing to be singled out like that, on top of everything else she'd gone through in the past few days – with new punishments, the usual lack of sleep, and an increasing soreness that always permeated her body and making her reluctant to do much more than walk; she knew she shouldn't be letting those things effect her as much as they did, and cause her to get this offended, but she couldn't much help herself just then. She stood in the middle clearing, carefully controlling her breathing; gripping and ungripping and regripping her spear until her knuckles went white. Looking around, she studied each of the teammates individually, but no one paid her any attention. She felt her anger, if possible, fan skyward.

_Fine, if they don't want to pay attention, I will _make _them pay attention._

Ignoring the cautionary words of Eværín, pushing them deftly to the back of her mind and informing him that she could take care of herself, _thank you very much,_ she hefted her spear in her hand; though she didn't think she'd be using it. She set a ready stance and waited for the game to start.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long.

It was only the space of a few minutes before the first of the 'attacks' came into their humble camp. It was more than enough time to think through her slightly reckless plan, and make her sure enough of herself to have the confidence to do it.

A few tentative attacks on the surrounding area, preempted by blunted arrows whistling through the trees, signaled the beginning of the game as determined by the attacking force. The first few people foolish enough to break through the line of trees on their own were easily overpowered; all of the attackers promptly being made to sit down where they were marked in red, with bruises sure to follow. Only one of their own defenders went down, and the circle promptly shifted to fill the gap.

_Right, because I'm so completely incompetent that they can't even let me act as a physical barrier._ _I could at least be doing _something; _I'm not completely worthless. _She thought bitterly, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't have any more room in her reputation to be acting childish.

Miles's team had been paired off into a slightly staggered in a circle around her. Many had shown signs of wanting to join into the small scuffles that broke out on one side of the circle, that nearest to the trees, but a few sharp orders from Thaddeus were enough to keep them in line.

By a few quick calculations she was sure everyone was doing inside their minds, Miles estimated that there were about six or seven people still remaining to attack.

Everyone had been expecting an attack in force on the opposite side of the area they'd been assigned to defend, having simply failed at their attack plan, but much to everyone's surprise all six came out simultaneously from different angles. They each took out their opponents with almost synchronized moves that left their victims with red lines across their throats, evening out the numbers between the opposing sides.

Miles promptly dropped her spear in surprise as one of the attackers moved in, with her clearly in sights the next target. Miles backed up, all thoughts of a plan flying out of her mind, and made for the edge of the camp where she'd seen one of the traps set by the training masters earlier. She heard a few laughs from the people who'd already been made to sit out as she dashed wildly for the edge of the clearing, sure that she was being followed.

She knew she looked like an idiot and a coward, but she didn't have many other choices if she wanted to remain unbruised and in the game – though she wasn't completely sure that she did, mind you – and this was probably her best shot out of the lot of them. She wouldn't back down because of a few snickers from her peers; she'd dealt with worse in her day. Turning abruptly when she reached the tree line, positive she'd skirted the trap, she wheeled around to face the would-be attacker. She was a blonde girl of a middling height and fierce green eyes, wielding a sturdy looking sword and shield. They both stilled and Miles began to slowly move to her left, knowing she was just barely out of range of the trap at the tree line, but trusting that the other girl was close enough to trigger and catch most of whatever it was. She knew it had to be somewhere around her, and she could only hope she was going in the right direction.

After a few tentative steps, the other girl smiled and hefted her sword, presumably already savoring her impending victory over Miles, and followed her steps towards the trap. The girl had just opened her mouth to say something domineering – or so Miles assumed – when with a loud _snap! s_he stepped on some kind of release, triggering a spray of red paint to surge skyward. Miles had to repress a laugh when a large amount of the stuff landed in the blonde girl's opened mouth, plucking the slightly tarnished shield off her splattered arm with utter delight. Casting a look back as she dashed past, Miles received a dirty look from the seated girl and her teammates. In return, she gave them a large smile, finding that she couldn't take any of them seriously as the girl spat out copious amounts of red onto the grass, her blond hair congealed in already drying paint.

Returning back into the middle of the clearing, Miles found herself in the middle of a thoroughly uneven fight – two remained from the opposing team, but only the captain, Thaddeus, was still standing from her own; save herself, of course. She bit her lip, unsure of how to help and nearly positive she couldn't, but wanting to all the same. Anything would be better than standing dumbstruck where she was, like a half-wit, trying to think up some solution while the duel grew stale; though, she only had the luxury of that position, standing still for an instant longer to complement to herself on Thaddeus's skilled swordsmanship (_I__f only she could hold off two attackers like that - !_) when one of two attackers wheeled to face her.

Finally cursing her bad luck – for she hadn't wanted to end up as one of the last few remaining players – Miles brought up the shield instinctively to block a blow from his blunted sword, though the position was difficult to maintain due to her one injured arm; it forced her weaker left to bear all of the dull weight that shot up to her shoulders in small shocks. It seemed that the blunted edge of the blade had only served to stiffen what was already a fearsome set of blows; as she doubted if she could pull another player through a trap, having already done so once, she began do despair at the strength of her opponent. She was doomed, right as rain; all she could do was hold him off as best she could until Thaddeus could help her; for she had no doubts that he would win a duel with the one opposing swordsman after facing off against both with so much success.

It was just a matter of her arm not giving in until then, and bearing the shame of being no more than a glorified punching bag for her opponent. She gritted her teeth, determination flooding into her limbs. No matter what, she would see this particular venture through, as silly as she found it. _Useless, bah!_ She thought – she'd show everyone she was good for more than a laugh.

Seized by a sudden inspiration and borne on some new wave of resolve she'd never felt before, she ducked and spun under the shield, side-stepping the blow and using her small size to gain the few seconds needed to return to where she'd dropped her spear. She brought up the shield once more to bar yet another blow, giving grim thanks that her attacker appeared to be a one-trick pony when it came to attacks; it gave her more options than a more creative opponent would have.

Immediately following one of the strikes, Miles threw all her weight into the shield, throwing the attacker off balance and spinning under her shield again; this time extending her arm to touch the blunted spearhead to the boy's stomach in one fast strike; being sure to leave a bruise. She stared down at her own arm with something akin to shock after the moment passed, unsure if she was caught in some kind of dream. She'd never really won any kind of duel before, as every time she'd come close her clumsiness would kick in and she would find herself scrambling for a dropped weapon, or sprawled on the ground, coated in dirt from tripping over her own feet. Slowly, a smile spread across her mouth.

"Dead," She pronounced, pulling back her arm and watching with a smug satisfaction as the boy sank down onto the grass in front of her.

It was only when the training masters then appeared out of the brush and declared her team the victor that she realized she had, indeed, been the last one standing.

Ͽ ҉ Ͼ

A few evenings later into her punishment lessons, Miles had taken to simply meeting Eragon just beside the bunks and mess hall, as opposed to following him out of the mess hall once he was finished with his supper. Her dread of the lessons, and, in truth, of fencing in general, had decreased somewhat since they'd begun playing the game in which had won Miles her first ever victory; the fear and hatred of sparing had faded into a general feeling of wariness and distaste. She doubted she'd ever really like it or be good at it, but at least she found she'd been more able to avoid bruises. Though, she was always paid them back measure for measure during the evenings – she didn't mind too much, though; she could hardly expect to be made to spar with Eragon Shadeslayer, the Rider who slayed Galbatorix himself, and escape unscathed! A few bruises were a small price to pay, in all honesty.

However, her peers' attitude towards her was quickly deteriorating, and she feared that the situation might soon reach a boiling point; whereas before she was regarded with sheer indifference – simply ignored and occasionally taunted when contact was unavoidable – she now found people going out of their way to make her miserable. Miles had now spent several nights outside, including a rather unpleasant stormy one; though Eværín had always been able to help greatly in those situations. She'd taken to reading and meditating before supper as opposed to after, and catching the last gleanings of food when no one was around to trip her up as she walked down the aisles; sometimes, she skipped eating supper altogether. As a result, she was growing even scrawnier than she'd ever been before.

After two nights of escaping to her usual apple tree, she'd sat under its familiar branches, truly relaxing for the first time all day, only to have some brown substance – whose true identity she didn't really care to know – rained down upon her. Two of the smaller students had apparently followed her earlier, and concealed themselves in the tree's abundant foliage with the help of some older students, so as to catch her by surprise. She grudgingly bathed in the nearby stream, freezing cold, and found herself a new spot to escape to without the torment of her peers – by the waterfall, some distance north of the training fields; nearly twice the walk to the apple tree. Every time she found herself retreating there, she was doubly careful to ensure she wasn't followed.

Whatever she did, she didn't inform any of the training masters of their petty pranks. She wasn't going to be giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing she'd caved after only a few rather uncreative attempts to soil her spirits.

_If they didn't like being beaten by me, you'd think they would have let it go after the next game when I _lost – _it wasn't even _me _who was this 'winner'. It was my entire team, for gods' sake! I don't _understand_! Why does it even matter so much? Loads of those kids win things over me every day! _She thought angrily, removing the toads someone had put in her bed on the lone night she'd managed to get into the bunks before someone barred the door. Eværín was always sympathetic to her plight, but couldn't fathom why she wouldn't simply tell one of the training masters and put an end to it.

_You have uncounted hours at your disposal to tell them in private, no one need ever be the wiser, and then you can sleep in the same comfort and warmth provided the others,_ he counseled her one evening after she'd been locked out for the third time, and set herself down to sleep under the shelter of his wing. _You've never been one to be unwisely prideful, don't start the habit now._

Goodnight, _Eværín,_ she would say after hearing his reasoning for upwards of an hour. She was frustrated, and chilly; for fall was quickly approaching the land, which left little to no change save different colored foliage and a new bite in the night air; until she'd been forced to start sleeping outside, she had not even noticed the latter. In the daytime, the weather stayed curiously the same.

She sat on the ground, wary and sore from the day's practice already, and awaited Eragon's arrival for the few short minutes she could. When he arrived, she was pleased to discover that tonight's lesson would not be accompanied by the usual uncomfortable silence as they walked through the woods to the clearing some distance from camp, leaving behind everyone to their free time, and took up the lesson where it had left off the previous night. Now, Eragon led her in another direction; and waiting for them at the edge of the collection of sparse halls was the dragon Saphira.

She was a massive and majestic being, larger than any given hall and by far the largest and oldest dragon in attendance at the training camp; that is, if you did not wish to count the Eldunarí, which were positively ancient in Miles's novice opinion. Stopping to give a short to bow and pay respect to the Dragon who contributed as much as Eragon to the downfall of the Empire, Miles turned to Eragon.

"Are we going to be flying, Eragon-elda?" She said, still using the respectful elvish term, as she had been. He had not requested her to switch to the customary 'Ebrithil', or 'Master', so she had decided to simply stick with the simpler word. She hadn't the energy to ponder the subtleties of politeness at the moment.

"Yes," He said, nodding, "You can summon your dragon if you wish, though I am sure that Saphira has strength enough to carry us both. It is your choice,"

The blue dragon lowered her head to examine Miles, and Miles did her best to stand as tall and look as unintimidated as possible. It would not due to appear weak in any circumstances, though she knew she was only an increasingly scrawny teenager as of late, with much growing ahead of her; her attitude could still emanate confidence. She'd seen in it done by many others, and there was no reason that she should not be able to do the same. Saphira observed her for another silent moment as Eragon made to mount the saddle situated between her wings, and Miles met her gaze without so much as a flinch.

_Eværín?_ She called through their mental link, while she stood silently and did her best not to be tense, sending him a stream of images of the past few moments. He was already on his way, flying the short distance from where the other dragons had been congregated.

She was relieved when Eværín landed next to her deftly, and Saphira's gaze retreated. She guessed that she must have shared some funny thought with Eragon, as she could have sworn his mouth twitched up in amusement for a fleeting moment. She ignored it, sure that in her place she would have made more than one quip about her own scrawny appearance, and scrambled up onto Eværín's back with much less grace than that of her Master's, though she'd done it many times before. Tt never got any easier for her; she was naturally small, and Eværín was older and larger than most dragons here, having hatched and begun to grow sooner than they, when Miles was roughly age six as opposed to age ten or eleven.

After she finally secured herself on his back, and declined to fetch a saddle to protect the skin on her legs. "So long as we aren't flying too far, I should be fine," She said calmly, with full faith in Eværín's ability to keep her on his back, and her own ability to stay seated. That was one of the positive outlooks of having been bonded to Eværín for longer than the other students; while it took her a few extra minutes to actually _reach _the saddle, or in this case just Eværín's back, they had far superior flying skills as a team and were vastly more attuned to each other. She was sure wherever they were going, it would be no trouble for Eværín and herself; it wasn't as if they were flying all the way across Alagaësia, after all.

So, they took off, with Eragon and Saphira leading Eværín bearing Miles. True to Eragon's word, the flight was not too terribly long, though longer than Miles had expected. However, they flew in such a direction that the camp swiftly fell away from them, much to Miles's relief. In all the time she'd been training, she had never once been farther than the short distance from the place required to reach the waterfall; she could almost always make out the faint shapes of the halls on the horizon. She often felt as if she were somehow chained to the place, unable to break free – nothing felt better than the faint shapes of the various halls fade behind her as she flew into the sky with Eværín – _really_ flying, for the first time in a long time. Even the knowledge that she was doomed to return in a few short hours couldn't bite back the feeling of serenity that seemed to occupy the air just out of the camp's reach.

Below them the terrain got increasingly thick with trees, and though their altitude stayed the same, the green branches rose closer to meet them, and seemed to reach up and pull them down as they landed. Clearings like those in which their training field was placed were nowhere to be seen in this particular part of the forest. They had backtracked into the thickest part of the ancient wood; she was surprised when they could even find a clearing large enough for both dragons to land in.

By the time that both dragons had landed and both Riders dismounted, the sun was barely holding itself atop the horizon; the sky appeared golden through the small gaps in the branches, and she could picture off memory alone the image of the sun drooping, sleepy and fat on the horizon, aching to lay itself down below the plains and rest itself for a new day. _It'll be dark soon,_ she thought, _how on earth will we see then? I could hardly put a werelight up here and be able to see everywhere I go – this'll be a nightmare._

She felt Eværín give a small huff, releasing only warm air, and nudged the back of her head comfortingly. She turned around slowly, giving him a small smile and placing a hand on the side of his head gently, before walking to where Eragon had seated himself on a fallen log. He was currently at work making two more roughly hewn practice swords, which Miles looked on with some small measure of apprehension.

"Why do you keep making new ones?" She asked, after standing in front of him and watching the wood in his hand gradually take on the semblance of a sword.

"What do you mean?" He asked her, not looking up but continuing his work.

"Why do you keep making new swords – what if someone else decided to inhabit the woods in the future, and they just found all these wooden swords lying about in the woods? And it would…" She searched for a more logical reason to have interrupted his thoughts, for as usual the words to tumble from her lips were the ones her brain had told her to keep firmly inside, meaning, she sounded idiotic and bizarre as usual. "… Save time." She finished, nodding a little at her own words. Saving time, that made sense.

"Do you think I should carry wooden practice swords on me, then?" He said, "And wouldn't the wood have decayed by the time the Riders leave these woods? I can assure you that will most likely not be for a very, very long time."

She shrugged. "Well, if we were returning to the same spot every evening you could simply hide them – I once saw a useful trick for concealing things in the trunks of trees that would be rather useful. It was just a suggestion…" She turned away from Eragon as he made some small noise of assent, walking past him and past where Saphira lay behind him; her head tucked under her wing and presumably taking a nap. She began to wander around the clearing and a little into the woods, playing the passive observer and hoping to find something to help her in the match to come.

After about ten minutes, she found herself standing in the middle of a decidedly smaller and darker clearing with a new practice sword in her hand. She was supposed to be 'using the terrain' – though it would probably only make her trip and injure herself in all new and exciting ways, from what she'd been able to see. _Another day, another new way to scrape myself up,_ she thought,_ at least my skills are improving._

It was a longer pause than usual before the attack finally came, and she resumed the usual torture of attempted blockings, some bruisings, now with some tripping and using magic to light up places as she maneuvered around the small section of the forest, doing her best to use her small size to her advantage and slip through gaps in the trees which Eragon could not.

In the end, she _did_ use the idea of concealing herself in a tree, but she didn't have the mental energy to think up the words in the ancient language to use to create the actual action of hollowing a tree, clambering into that hollow, and then closing it again; not to mention that she would then have to open the tree's bark coat and attack Eragon at a moment's notice. That would take _eons_ of energy, and a precise timing she just didn't have. So, instead, she used a bit of the energy from the necklace that hung under her shirt and darkened her person so that she blended into a small hollow between two trees that only she could fit into, and waited.

She sat tucked comfortably there for a few moments, and was almost sad to leave it when she heard the soft rustle of many tree branches being moved at once, as if someone was bursting through them at a reasonably high speed. She would have dismissed it under other circumstances, but she knew that the person she was up against had elf-like speed, and so she paid extra attention accordingly. Thus, it was unmistakable.

He flashed pass her, hesitating in the middle of the clearing, and wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, panting slightly. Mustering all her strength for as quick a blow as she could manage, she swept out from the hollow behind him, making as little noise as possible while going as fast as she could. She whirled around him, sweeping under his sword as he wheeled around at the noise of her leaving her hiding spot, bringing up her own practice sword in one motion and stopping it to lean slightly against Eragon's collarbone; for the second time, and the first time against Eragon, she had won.

He looked down at the sword and it felt as if the entire wood froze for a few seconds. Using two fingers to push it away from his face, he studied her dark figure with an unreadable expression. She stopped the spell with a quick word from the ancient language, and blinking up innocently at him as she faded into the normal light. It was their first match of the evening, and though the sun had definitely set, it was not yet truly dark – she must have been like a shadow. She felt guilty – it wasn't really through skill that she won the match, and the victory held no real triumph, unlike her first win.

"Well played," he said, his words measured. She shrugged, and brushed her hair out of her face. As usual, it toppled down her back in dark waves, sticking to her sweaty forehead, unbound and messy.

"Just lucky I didn't drop the sword," She said. She made to actually pull her hair out of her face for once – she couldn't afford any other obstructions to her sight if they had to continue to spar in the already dark forest while the night approached – but was surprised to see Eragon toss his sword away and return to the clearing. Keeping her sword, she followed as quickly as her marginally shorter legs would allow her.

"Are we finished?" She said, hardly believing that she could get off so easily.

"Not yet," He said, reaching the clearing.

"No?" She said, confused, "I don't understand,"

"You'll see," He said shortly, "Follow me," He had, apparently, contacted Saphira during the short walk – which seemed much quicker upon the return journey – for both she and Eværín were ready to leave by the time they reached the original clearing.

"Are you angry with me?" She asked, completely taken aback by the sudden change in the usual punishment/lesson.

"No." He said firmly, but not unkindly, turning to face her for a moment before climbing up onto Saphira's back.

Though they'd only sparred once that evening, the journey to this thicker part of the woods and the prolonged sparring combined had taken up more than an hour or two. The return journey was not as at as leisurely a pace as the arrival, but was not at an overly one and still took longer than it might have, had each dragon been going as fast as they could.

At least, not until they came within sight of the camp, or rather, what remained of it; a ruinous collection of smoldering foundations, topped by thickening smoke that stretched towards the ever darkening sky. The place was almost utterly destroyed; decades worth of careful plans to resurrect an ancient order, scattered in the wind like so many grains of sand.


	3. Impact

Miles felt the blood in her veins freeze, pulsing through her body at a maddening rate and bringing with it a blank, unfriendly coldness that permeated through her entire being; it faded into the distant corners of her mind and blanketed everything in an unmitigated film of shock. As much as she hadn't liked the endless training and bruising and bullying, the sight of the camp that had been her home, for better or for or worse, laying in scathed and burning pieces on the ground was enough to make her feel sick.

The pace of the two dragons immediately quickened. Saphira and Eragon left them behind completely, dropping with unearthly speed towards the wreckage. Miles and Eværín lagged behind them as Eværín was hindered with a sudden intensity.

_We should follow them,_ she urged Eværín gently, though she felt his mourning as the glimmering shapes of several dragons came into view as they came closer, and became better able to see through the smoke; a verifiable rainbow of scales came into view, only this time the sight struck a melancholy and despairing note inside Miles's heart, as opposed to wonder at the beauty.

Eværín had been better at assimilating than she had, and had known all the dragons that had fallen – Miles began to count them, wondering if anyone had survived – things didn't look good. She did her best to comfort Eværín while guessing if there could be any survivors, but she found it harder and harder as be began to scan through their names and an almost debilitating grief once again surged across their mental link. She patted his back from where she sat, tears streaming down her own cheeks.

In the end, it seemed, all she could do was stand testament to his pain, but she did insist on returning to the wreckage of the camp. _There could be survivors!_ She practically shouted over the raging waves of his emotion, and with that he glided gently towards the camp. Miles slid off his back almost as soon as he touched down, running for the source of the smoke. She methodically started to pick her way across the ruins, leaving Eværín behind to conduct his own searches.

It seemed Saphira and Eragon had gone in pursuit of whatever had done this; surely it could be no creature that was yet known. The elves and Riders both were capable of magic – it would be pulled out of those who knew not how to use it in times when the possessors life was threatened. It was obviously strong enough to overcome all of that, along with several dragons, not to mention the urgals and dwarves who had also perished; no scroll or history that Miles ever came across of, or at least any she would assign any credibility to, told of such a creature or thing.

The creatures involved in this must be fearsome to behold.

She searched through what felt like miles of wreckage, looking under the pieces of walls fallen on the floor and debris that might have trapped someone, but not killed them. While she had been almost positive there would be at least one person to survive whatever it was, though the more she searched the less she felt sure of that assumption. She had almost given up hope and returned to Eværín to figure out what they should do next when she caught sight of something moving under the wreckage of a wall – like someone just stirring from a long sleep.

Immediately feeling her energy re-surge, Miles ran as fast as she could to the wall – it must have been part of the mess hall, from what she could tell of its location and color – but was hindered by several walls of equal size, and was forced to wind her way around them. _I found someone – they're trapped, I need your help!_ she thought, calling to Eværín.

_I have as well,_ he said, having calmed down some from his previous distraught grief. She got the mental image of the amber colored dragon Velęs – she couldn't put a student's face to her, but she felt vague recognition. Miles would have bet her life that whoever she was bonded to was the person stirring under the brick; the other dragons would have been doomed to parish and descend into the void when their Rider did.

It made sense that when first looking at the wreckage Miles would have missed the amber colored dragon in the thick smoke, as her scales were more darkly colored, but no less brilliant. A lot like her Rider's eyes – _her Rider's eyes!_ With the revelation at her Rider – the boy, Thaddeus, who'd led the game those days ago – Miles scurried over the wreckage to see a bit of brown hair through the rubble of the wrecked mess hall. _He must have been having dinner,_ she thought.

She was immediately sickened by the thought. Everyone she'd been isolated by and the people she'd slept in the same room with were all dead, save this one. A rainbow's worth of colorful dragons, each majestic, ancient and unique, lay dead with them. It was all Miles could do to lurch to the side and was promptly sick over one of the few open patches of grass. At least she wasn't sick on somebody. Not yet, anyways.

Sputtering, and wiping her streaming eyes, and resumed the journey over the rubble, soon joined by the two dragons. Climbing back onto Eværín's back, helped along by the small mountains of rubble, they flew to the spot where Thaddeus was stirring, taking only a few seconds where half as much distance took precious minutes to traverse on foot. After Miles slid off Eværín's back the dragons were easily able to free him, and Miles rushed to his aid the moment the wall was lifted enough to permit a person of her size; she was quite sure he was the only survivor of the attack, and it was imperative that he survive.

He had broken few bones and there was a nasty looking wound on his head, and he was attempting to become conscious once more; his eyelids fluttered and opened for entire moments before they were snapped shut again. Wishing she had water, Miles tore off the bottom of her shirt, and began to wipe the dirt, soot and sweat off of his face.

"It's okay," She said, with a small, dry ghost of a smile, though her words were as far from the truth as the earth was from the sun. She was unsure if he could even understand her, but she kept her tone gentle, hoping some kind of kind message would get through to his murky consciousness, which was fleeting; his eyelids soon drooped closed once more. She didn't know whether to keep him awake or let him sleep, but decided that her main goal should be to get him far enough from the wreckage that they were safe from the smoke – preferably somewhere defensible and small, should whatever destroyed the camp return to take care of survivors.

_He needs to stop inhaling smoke,_ she said to Eværín, _but I am unsure if it is wise to move him. Can you try to find us some water? I don't know how long he's been breathing in the foul air._

_We can move him, _he said,_ we shall be gentle._

_I don't know,_ she said, carefully sponging off the boy's face, which was contorted unconsciously with pain. She bit her lip, studying his various wounds and concluded that it was doubtful he'd participated in any sort of fight – he must've been knocked out by the falling wall when whatever it was first intruded on the camp. _I refuse to let him die, _she thought, she thought, mostly to herself, her resolve stiffening.

_He needs to be kept still; I don't like the look of that headwound. Can you find a board? It will help keep him still while we move him._ Eværín grumbled in assent and took off, returning after a few moments with a board – the wreckage was new, and only part of the camp had been set on fire, though the smoke was carried over its entirety by the wind; still, large pieces of wood were not hard to come by.

She watched apprehensively as Velęs lifted her Rider, gently as possible, onto the board. _Wait, _she said, _I want to tie him down more securely before you lift him, just… just in case. _She contacted both dragons, and moved forward. The rag she had clutched in the bottom of her hand would not nearly be enough to tie down his head securely, and keep his neck still.

After a moment's thought, she ripped off the rest of her shirt with no further hesitation,(_Modesty be damned!_) leaving her in only a breastband, and began to rip it into strips. She tied them together deftly, being careful to disturb Thaddeus as little as possible, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

She backed away again when ran out of strips to use, watching as Velęs grasped the board firmly, and carried him to the western boarder of the camp; the smoke was blowing north. Without needing to communicate what she wanted, Eværín lifted her in his claws gently and set her down next to the board, saving the time needed to climb on his back and then to slid off again.

Wishing she had more energy saved than the small reserve in her small necklace, she set to work on doing what she could for Thaddeus; wrapping her necklace around her wrist, she closed her eyes and did what healing spells she could on his various broken bones, but leaving behind bruises that would heal easily on their own, ironically looking down at her own broken and splinted arm when she was finished. _I can heal myself later, I guess,_ she thought. She was in no danger of death, nor in any terrible amounts of pain; her magic would have to be allocated to the person laying somewhere between consciousness and dreams before her, at least until he could wake up and tell her otherwise, though it was doubtful she'd listen.

_I'm not sure if I can heal this,_ she said, examining the bloody wound on his forehead. She brushed a few strands of stay hair off his face subconsciously, not liking the increasingly pale pallor of his face. _Should I wait for Eragon to return? It… it might be too late… I don't know, but I don't know if he could, either. His time in Ellesméra to study healing with the elves was short, and mine stretched years.. its more possible that I've come across a useful spell than he has, but he's probably had more practical practice. What should I do? I don't think it wise to wait that long._

_Then I think your choice is clear, young one, _Eværín said gently. She felt stifled and overwhelmed; while the heat and smoke from the wreckage were no longer clouding her, the two dragons stood hovering over her, and the heat emanated between them in waves and blocked out what little light the moon provided. The heat coupled with the draining of energy to use the other healing spells had left her incapable of doing much more than walking, if that.

She swallowed, knowing she would not want someone asking Eværín to step away from her unconscious body, and steeled herself for a steep loss in her remaining energy reserves. _Will you help me?_

_Of course._

Tightening her grip on the necklace, she moved around so that Thaddeus's head could lay in her lap. She took a deep breath, and composed the words in her head and double checking to ensure she was choosing ones that could be discontinued should she need to conserve energy; it would not due to have them both unconscious, now would it?

_Worry not, little one, I won't let you faint._ She nodded, and allowed her eyes to fall shut.

She began to chant the ancient language under her breath, reaching to the back of her mind one last time for the crystalline wall of magic, picturing herself pulling a plug and allowing it to flow forth. She felt the magic begin to stream through her, down through her arm and out through the shining Gedwëy Ignasia, which glowed with the power of the spell. She dimly registered the movement on her lap, as Thaddeus began to shift under her. She paid it no mind, and continued her ministrations. She spoke the words on an endless replay for what felt like ages, but what might have only been a collection of small moments; each passing word depleting her energy. It was only through Eværín's help that she was able to keep going until the injury was as healed as it could be.

She began to feel her magic level off the wound, and opened her eyes , her mouth shutting and the words tumbling back from her lips to be used another day. The silence thickened the air in the absence of her whispered spells pressed in on her, making the heat she'd felt before multiply tenfold, and she knew she could only stand to sit there for a few moments longer – but not until she made sure she'd done the job so sorely needed correctly.

So, she took a deep breath, looking down onto Thaddeus's face; it was cleaner now, thanks to her earlier ministrations, and his eyelids lay still, his breath steady; he could be sleeping, as opposed to unconscious, as she knew he must be. The surface of the wound had healed, and she'd knitted the muscle over the mended bone as best as she could; but she knew not what to do with the brain, if it had been bruised as she suspected. She cleared her throat, unwinding the necklace around her left wrist and returning it to its former spot around her neck. Carefully, she moved the boy's head off her lap and stood, her joints popping from the time spent in the singular, cramping position.

"That's all I can do," She said, looking over at Velęs, apologetically, her voice rasping. She could have communicated to her mind directly, but she didn't think now would be the time to make such assumptions and intrude on another dragon's thoughts. Neither dragon had moved from their spots hovering over her.

"That's more than I could do at your age," Said a voice from behind the wall of shimmering scales. Walking out from beneath the searing heat of the two dragons, welcoming the lack of heat, Miles found herself face to face with Eragon, seated next to the stream, leaning against Saphira, his face lined with sorrow.

"And what were you doing at my age?" She said, though she felt faint and could barely keep herself standing. She half collapsed next to the stream, and began to wash sweat off own face.

"Farming," He said simply.

"Well that would explain it." She answered politely, "I've never had to lift a farming tool in my life," each word felt as if she had to run a league to hurl it into the air from her mouth. Her arms grew heavy and she knew it was only a matter of time before her body gave out and forced her to succumb to dark waves of a restful sleep. Eværín flew from the side of Velęs, allowing her to lean against him.

She patted his side gratefully, and without another word, drifted off to sleep.

When she awoke, she felt a million times better. The sunlight pierced through her eyelids, well above the trees; it was well past noon. Her senses returned to her, and she could feel the heat of Eværín as he sat, providing her shelter from the light wind, and heard the crackling of a fire and the smell of some kind of stew. It was then that her mind reminded her she was hungry – ravenous, actually.

Her eyelids snapped open, and she noticed that she was not where she had gone to sleep – she was some distance into the forest, in a copse of trees blocked off by a small stream; the clearing was tidy and the sky was almost obscured by drooping trees. The gap between them formed an irregular circle just large enough to allow sunlight and to catch a few fleeting glimpses of still swirling smoke in the distance.

Eragon sat on a tree stump, his bare sword across his knees, and was, to her surprise, quite shirtless. She looked down at herself and blushed as she realized that she, herself, was wearing it. She remembered using the strips of her shirt to tie down Thaddeus to ensure that his neck and head were not further injured when they removed him from the smoke. _Well, my body was not going to secret me a shirt, _she reminded herself, pushing up into a sitting position.

He looked up at the noise, and she had to assume that he'd been sitting in the relative silence for some hours. She looked back at him unblinkingly, unsure of what to say after what had happened – while her eyes were still closed, she had almost been able to convince herself all that had happened was some kind of horrible nightmare; it was the kind of thing that just simply didn't happen anymore.

After a few minutes of somewhat uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat and looked away.

"You must be hungry," He said, his voice maintaining an edge of awkwardness.

"I – um," Miles cleared her throat, but found it dry and reached for a nearby water skin. "I think I've lost the ability to speak properly," She said after a quick sip. His face split into a quick smile with the same feeling as the sun peeking through the clouds after a stormy afternoon; a fleeting contrast to the atmosphere.

He stood, and filled her up a bowl of stew, before sheathing his sword and making as if to leave.

"Going somewhere?" She asked through a mouthful of stew.

"I well I wasn't about to leave two unconscious people undefended while something is about that's wiped out as many powerful people as it did," He said. "I have to see what we salvage get from the wreckage before we leave."

"I was_ not_ unconscious," She said defensively, but neither of them pressed the point. Settling back into her previous spot, she spoke again, her voice still raspy, "I assume you didn't find… whatever it was? And we're going somewhere? Where?" She asked.

The stopped what he was doing to cast one of his numerous studying gazes upon her once more, and something seemed to amuse him. "To answer your first question, no; I found nothing more some tracks, and we're lucky it rained only a few nights ago and the ground was soft enough for them. Whatever it is, it looks no bigger than a large dragon; though that is rather large. It can't fly, though, s'far as I can tell; if they could, there would be marks of it. It was odd – they looked like human tracks, but massive. To address your second question, yes; we are going somewhere. I plan to have us follow the water back to Du Weldenvarden, and alert Alagaësia to the newest goings on, because whatever it is is headed for the edge of the Beor Mountains. The dwarves might be able to hold them off, if they're given proper warning. We'll have to beat it back to the rest of the world and then assist in the efforts of whatever comes next."

She nodded and watched patiently as he turned away once more and belted on a hunting knife, which had been laying just in his reach only moments before as he sat guard. He mounted Saphira and they departed with no further exchange of words.

_I wonder why he always leaves so ubruptly – I never know to expect him to keep talking or just turn around and take off,_ she said to Eværín, sighing and standing slowly; her still unsteady legs didn't seem to want to hold her weight, but she forced herself to take the short walk to stir the fire, which had withered down to a few glowing coals, provoking it back into an angry red flame. She felt some more energy flow back into her limbs from the exercise, and she felt better. _I feel like I should be more alert, but I haven't the mental capacity right now. Everything seems so peaceful,_ she added.

_I think that was why this spot was chosen. You can hardly see the smoke from here._

Miles craned her neck towards the destroyed camp, but promptly gave up with a small noise of assent when all that met her eyes was a wall of green leaves – it seemed that the smoke was only visible from certain vantage points in the clearing. Returning to her stew, she asked,_ I wasn't out long, was I? _

_No, but you slept through the night like a rock. Not so much as a stir when we moved camp; I had to carry you in my claws._

_You always seem to carry me in your claws. _ She said with a hint of humor. _One of these days I will end up hanging about in your claws more than I will walking on the ground, like a misbehaved kitten._

_You are a misbehaved kitten,_ he responded, butting the back of her head lightly with a tone of fondness. She smiled, and returned to her stew once more, this time finishing it in silence. After washing the wooden bowl in the stream that flowed gently across the camp's western border, she turned her attention to the unconscious third party who had, much to her shame, needed her attention the most in the past hour, and gotten it the least.

She walked over to Thaddeus's limp form as it lay next to Velęs, who watched the scene warily. She approached cautiously; as if she were to tread too loudly it might scare the pair away. Drying her hands on her worn leggings, she knelt by the boy, casting the amber dragon a look beseeching permission – she wouldn't want to help if it made her uncomfortable.

The dragon snorted, releasing a small puff of smoke and said _Go ahead, _her tone measured and patient. Miles would have thought nothing of it had she ever had direct contact with many other dragons besides Eværín – the presence had the same underlying feel of grandeur and dignity of their ancient race as his, but was distinctly feminine and somehow different, however not unkind. It was still an adjustment to be made, no matter how many times it happened.

_Thank you, Velęs-elda,_ she said respectfully before retreating from the contact and beginning her examination of the injured boy, though she was sure Eragon must have looked at him at some point after she'd fallen asleep; he was not as bad as she was expecting, to her relief. But then, he wasn't as well as he could have been. He was pale, but his skin was not translucent, or covered in sweat, nor completely white – it was closer to its normal pallor, but she could hardly expect a young man's usual healthy color to return to him a mere day after such an injury. He appeared to be more asleep than unconscious, which was better than she expected. He might even wake up today, if their luck held.

She unwrapped the bandage, though she knew she'd healed the surface wound sufficiently and couldn't imagine why it should be there. All the same, she unwound the bandage around his head and examined the newly formed skin underneath. It was a shade lighter than the rest of his face, and delicate looking. Taking a deep breath, she placed her palm over the mark gently, extending her magic down into the wound and searching for any small way to help the injury along. She wasn't about to let another person die, though she doubted this injury would cause death at this point. Still, anything was possible.

After a few probing moments, she withdrew her hand, satisfied with the wound's recovery in the few hours it'd been allowed to set and heal unhindered. She carefully replaced the bandage before walking back to where Eværín sat.

Both dragons had been watching her with guarded expressions, and she stopped amid the short walk, crossing her arms and looking at them both. "Well did you expect me to somehow blast it open again? I'm not completely incompetent, you know." She said.

_Careful, young one, _warned Eværín, but Velęs simply emitted a small jet of steam into the air before curling up and hiding Thaddeus under her wing, ignoring them. Miles sighed, and sat on the tree stump that Eragon had occupied only an hour ago, wishing for a weapon she could actually use competently should the need arise; she'd only the small, slim blade she'd always worn, as they'd always been told to wear. They were told that when they went to actually train and fight with _real_ swords, instead of practice ones, the weight would then feel natural. Not that it would do any good in the immediate future, or at least not for her. Maybe if her and Thaddeus's positions had been reversed, things would have been different.

As it was, she would have to hope that whatever it was she was guarding against was big enough that she'd be able to spot it in enough time to move camp somewhere safer – probably upstream. So, she settled into watch her surroundings as closely as was allowed by the shifting winds and sheltering trees, sliding down to lean up against the tree truck and laid her still-broken arm in her lap.

_I suppose I could heal this now,_ she said, looking down at the splint and her mouth twisting into a frown. She disliked the idea of using much more energy on magic and healing, and she'd already used all of the energy contained in the crystal that lay around her neck. _I wouldn't be of much use in a fight, if it comes to that… _she thought anxiously, her stomach twisting in nervousness.

She pondered the problem while mindlessly tracing swirling images in the dirt next to her, occasionally lifting her head to look around at the sky and trees to ensure that they were quite alone. _I'm a terrible sentry, _she thought, feeling she shouldn't be as amused with the thought as she was.

It wasn't more than a few hours before Eragon returned, and by then Miles had grown way past bored. She'd refilled the water skins, tended to the stew, and done just about everything she could think of – save watching the grass grow, though the afternoon was about as entertaining.

"Anything interesting?" she asked him, eager for something to abate the boredom, and she wasn't eager to begin thinking over the implications of having to restart the order the Riders – for the _third time._

He shook his head, helping himself to the stew at the center of the camp and sitting near the edge of it, just out of range of the fire's glow. She could barely make out his face in the darkness, but she stared at his darkened form with intensity all the same. She waited until he was finished with the stew to negate his unspoken statement.

"There must have been something," She insisted.

"Aye, but naught of much interest. I was only to be able to find of a few things that will be useful, but most of the buildings are collapsed and smoldering – not quite burned, but damaged enough." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was quiet for a moment, and Miles did her best not to let the pity she felt lodging itself in the pit of her stomach show; how many decades of Eragon's work had just been burned to the ground, she couldn't guess.

"To Ellesméra, then?" She asked quietly. The question hung in the air like stale sunshine.

She didn't press him for an answer when he didn't answer her for more than a few minutes – she was sure that seeing the physical evidence of the camp, more free of its cementing smoke than it had been yesterday, was hard. Not to mention the problems it posed: what was this thing that had done it? Could it be stopped, if need be? She assumed it was some kind of intelligent, as it had been smart enough to at least catch the camp full of powerful elves, urgals, young Rider and dwarves and then obliterate them all.

Considering the last fact, she found it hard to believe that these things would be friendly; that made it all the more a difficult question. Eragon would be the one expected to lead all of the efforts towards the things, she felt, as it had originated in this area – though she wondered if he would call together the members of the Varden again to help. She suppressed the misplaced feeling of excitement that lodged itself atop the pity; _the _Varden!_ If they were all gathered again… Eværín just think about it!_

_Hush._ He said, _we can think on that later, if it comes to be. But whatever Eragon has to face, we shall face as well. _ He reminded her.

_Yes, I know, _she said, settling into a more comfortable position. _He won't face this alone,_ she echoed, with an air of finality, gazing at the man who sat in half-darkness; his eyes closed and hand tangled in his bronze hair. _For what it's worth, I'll be there to help._

_Both of us._ Said Eværín. It was comforting to come to the conclusion, though Miles couldn't imagine how she could possibly come to a different one.

She cast a look over at Thaddeus, and wished – _really _wished, for the first time – that he would wake up. She didn't want to be the only one here with Eragon, as much as she felt loyal to him. She was the disappointment; the 'problem child'. Thaddeus was as close to a golden boy as you could get at camp, at least as far as she could tell from what she'd observed of him, which, admittedly, wasn't much. He excelled at swordsmanship, which she'd noted with jealousy, as well as other modes of fighting, as well as flying and everything else they'd been taught. He would be a reassuring to have by your side, strong-looking and of steady countenance. Not Miles, who almost seemed to be his exact opposte – she was clumsy and talked too much; asked too many questions. Not even really intelligent ones. She just sort of… _Was_.

She didn't have a problem with it anymore, having long since come to grips with her own person, but she wasn't exactly what she felt Eragon needed exposure too just now. It was only out of her insolence and everything that had made her unsuited to the task at hand that had delivered her there. _Fate has a sense of humor,_ she observed, looking down at the water skin in her hand.

She broke the haze of silence to get up and set the water skin down, walking over to the stream. She felt the gaze of the older man fix itself on her back, but she ignored it the best she could. She sat cross-legged by the stream, and removed her boots. In the flickering glow of the fire, she splashed them into the gentle current, and leaned back on her hands. She pulled her necklace out from under the overlarge shirt she wore, and began to siphon off excess bits of energy borne of the water's cold temperature – it was never too soon to replenish her small store of energy, and she supposed she'd best find another place to store some more. It looked as if she might need it.

It mightn't be much, but it was just about all she had to give right now.

* * *

A.N - So, chapter three! Sorry this got up a bit later than I was hoping to; real life called, however fleetingly. I also feel I should apologize for this chapter a bit; I had originally had more plans for it, but the size was growing positively immense so I decided to cut it off and save some bits for the next chapter, which should be along in a day or two! It is what it is, and I was satisfied enough to post it, though its a bit less than I'd've liked.


	4. To Ellesméra

They set out for Ellesméra around midmorning the next day. They had wanted to start out early, but a few complications arose.

First, Miles was extremely reluctant to have all three of them fly all the way to Ellesméra, as it was not likely they'd stop at any other elvish cities, and she was not yet sure how Thaddeus would fare in flight. Eragon had taken a look at his wounds – he'd still not yet awoken – and assured her that he would be fine, but she wasn't sure, and therefore did not want to risk it. Not to mention the freezing temperatures at the heights which such distance flying was optimal. Who had ever heard of someone healing well in cold temperatures? Much better, she concluded, to keep them all on the ground for the time being.

Second of all, once they'd finally decided to fly – Miles's objections were overridden by her inability to argue with three dragons and the oldest Rider in Alagaësia – Eragon contacted the elvish Queen Arya, using the reflection of water in a small depression in the soil, and proceeded to converse with her for well over an hour.

Of course, the specifics of their conversation were not clear to Miles, as he left the clearing to speak with the Queen; leaving her feeling smaller, more disgruntled and more thick-headed than she felt in a long while. She was one of exactly five Dragon Riders left in Alagaësia, and that didn't even allow her to know what she was flying into when they flew across Du Weldenvarden, because clumsy little Miles would just obviously trip up anything and everything.

She was sulking, plainly put; and she knew it too. Not that it was going to stop her.

_You're doing the misbehaved kitten thing again,_ Eværín informed her, sitting beside her passively, a makeshift saddle on his back with the few things they'd been able to scavenge from the wreckage – Saphira bore a similar saddle, each of them with only leg straps and enough padding to ensure that no damage would come to their Riders. Thaddeus was the one in the only actual saddle available; Miles had insisted they strap him in properly, at the very least. She also insisted that wards be cast around him to condense air at the grounds warm temperature to help his healing continue as unhindered as possible.

Yes, that morning, for whatever reason, she had delighted in being difficult. She could be as hard-headed as an urgal when she wanted to be, overriding Eværín's assertions that he would carry her away in his claws by promising to use all her energy to get back to the ground again even if it completely drained her life force.

She didn't think she'd ever seen Eragon Shadeslayer _truly _exasperated until that moment.

"You are acting like a child." He informed her. She merely folded her arms and gave him a severe look, one that had made many a person flinch in its day, though she'd never had the pleasure of having such an effect on an Eragon himself. Perhaps the day that would change fast approached – she relished the thought.

"I'm thirteen!" She retorted.

"You are a Rider, you have a duty to act more mature than your age!" And with that, he stalked off to contact the Elvish Queen.

Poorly concealing her impatience when Eragon returned, they finally took off for Du Weldenvarden. If they hurried, they would reach the beginnings of the forest as it was touched by the outreaches of the elves' magic by nightfall, and could camp in one of the larger tree's shadows.

Not a word was exchanged as each Rider climbed into their saddles and took off into the bright, sunlight morning.

They quickly gained altitude into the brisk morning air, reaching the arctic uppermost reaches of the sky with more speed than Miles could ever remember. She was suddenly wishful of the insulated shirts that they had had at camp; since using her own as rope, Miles had been wearing an overlarge one of Eragon's, but it soon became next to frozen, the cold cloth making her shiver. They hadn't even been airborne for twenty minutes and already she was bitterly cold.

She hunched down over Eværín's back, and quickly composed a spell to keep some warmth in a bubble of air around her as they flew higher, hoping it would make her better company by the time she was forced to land. She disliked being in a bad mood, but the wish to stay in a pleasant mood did nothing to help the bad moods pass when they swarmed in her mind like stubborn storms, clouding her judgment. She needed to maintain an easy countenance and apologize for her behavior, she knew.

Once she'd warmed up a bit, and checked for the third or fourth time the progress of the other two dragons in the air – easily done, for they were exceedingly difficult to miss while sparkling so close to the morning sun – she found herself relaxing more, her muscles loosening and the usual rush that she felt from flying overtook her, soothing her wounded spirits. As a result, as the time grew near to land for lunch, she _was_ – thankfully – in much better spirits than she had been in the morning, and found herself looking for a good excuse or apology to make up for her boorish behavior.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a somewhat familiar consciousness touch hers and instinctively retreated behind a blockade of mental defenses, and began to recite an old dwarfish song in her mind with a practiced repetition:

_*"Mud in the stream,_

_And earth in the air,_

_Clay in my ears,_

_And stone in my stare,"_

Though, of course, the amber-colored dragon attempting to break into her mind did so with ease.

_You are out of practice,_ Eværín observed with even more amusement. She scowled; of course, it was funny now, but what if that had been an enemy magician? She could be dead, and Eværín as well! She felt he was sobered slightly by her thoughts, but she pushed their communication to the back of her mind and concentrated on the dragon who had contacted her.

_Is Thaddeus awake? _She asked of Velęs, for that must be the only reason the dragon would have wanted to contact her in the first place.

_Yes,_ the dragon responded an obvious relief and happiness seeping into the word. Miles smiled.

_Good, we'll be landing shortly and we can all speak then._ They then both retreated from the contact; Velęs had presumably already told Eragon of the boy's awakening.

After the initial relief of Thaddeus's awakening subsided, it was replaced by a feeling Miles could only describe as foreboding; they might find out what had destroyed the camp, and all the powerful beings in its attendance.

No more than ten minutes later, she found herself facing just this revelation. Thaddeus seemed to know what would be expected of him as he dismounted Velęs, his face looking pale and drawn; though, that could also be attributed to the wounds he had suffered, though it was bound to be at least one part worry. The conversation to come betwixt the group of them carried a heavy weight.

It was odd, she had to admit, to see him up and moving after the few days he'd been unconscious, but not unwelcome. She found some of the weight that had dragged on her shoulders had lifted when she found he had become conscious once more; it was admittedly extremely selfish of her, but she couldn't deny that it would have been terrible to have been the only student to have survived the disaster.

She did her best to give her one remaining peer a comforting smile as she dismounted.

"Well you seem in a better mood," Observed Eragon passively, standing beside the lake that they had been following, his arms crossed. Miles merely shrugged, deciding that there would be time for her apologies later.

"Lets just get down to it, shall we?" She suggested. Eragon gave a terse nod, and they both turned their gazes to Thaddeus. "I mean, if you're comfortable," She added, as an afterthought, nodding to the brown haired boy who had yet to dismount.

Warily, the boy began to loosen the ropes which held him in place – Miles had, embarrassingly, in hind sight – insisted they strap him in as securely as possible using any means, despite the knowledge that Velęs could easily catch him should he fall. You could never be too careful. He dropped to the ground, seemingly drained of energy, and asked, "Can't we eat first?"

Miles looked at Eragon, who nodded and turned to Saphira, retrieving one of the Saddle bags, which contained all the food they'd been able to get from the wreckage – a few loaves of sourdough bread, a few spices and salt, and a bit of meat. Neither Miles nor Eragon wanted the meat, both having already been put through the disciplinary mind practices which joined their consciousness's with those of animals which they were supposed to be eating – it was an uncomfortable position for Miles to be in, and she wasn't desperate enough to eat the meat, and neither was Eragon; therefore, it remained untouched until now.

They sat in a small circle, not lighting a fire, and ate their sparse meal; washing it down with water from a nearby stream.

Some of the color seemed to return to Thaddeus's face as he ate, and he seemed uncomfortably aware that both Miles and Eragon were studying him for any signs of, well, anything. Any clue in his countenance that would lend its voice to the conversation to come; some ghost of what was to be told in the conversation to come. He kept his expression guarded, ate silently as the rest of them, only speaking when the food had been returned to the saddlebags upon Saphira's back.

* * *

**↬_Thaddeus_**

When Thaddeus first awoke, the only thing he felt was confusion. One moment, he'd been walking out of the mess hall, accompanied by Edwin and Gwen, when suddenly he caught a glimpse of something massive – something he couldn't place, but didn't see all the way before a blinding pain erupted on the top of his skull, causing his sight to go awry. It was dark, but he was barely able to register that there was some kind of wall on top of him – his vision was blurred and spinning, and his head ached something fierce. He heard a commotion around him, and he got a cold, dark feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him something had indeed gone very, very wrong. He tried to contact Velęs and see if she knew what was happening, alarmed by the sudden drop of communication, but was frightened to find that he could not.

He knew not when the commotion stopped, only knowing that somehow and sometime, it had. He lay in a sort of limbo in between consciousness and unconsciousness; struggling to make sense out of the shapes that floated in front of him, unsure if they were imaginary. Dimly, he was aware of the wall being removed, and replaced by a face he found slightly familiar – purple eyes, he remembered those purple eyes. They seemed to look insolent even with his blurred vision and inflamed head. He could tell only that the girl smiled when it reached her eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle. He focused on them, using them as a fixating point on which to anchor himself, and attempted to pull himself back to awares.

He felt the pressure of something on his head, and though he knew somewhere inside his mind that it was a slight pressure and not meant to hurt, everywhere it touched seemed to burn into the inflamed part of his being and he struggled request that she stop, please, before he screamed in agony. She said something comforting, but he couldn't make out what; it was the last thing her remembered, before everything was washed away into a cold blackness.

The next thing he knew, Thaddeus was quite thoroughly strapped into some saddle he couldn't identify atop a sea of familiar amber-colored scales. He sighed in relief as his consciousness seemed to come to speed with his surroundings and the familiar touch of Velęs's consciousness felt as inseparable from his as ever.

_Little one, _she said fondly, a sudden surge of affection overwhelming their mental link and pouring into his mind. He smiled to himself, feeling equally grateful and felt he could almost laugh out of elation, though he could not even fully register what was going on, or what had happened.

In a stream of images, scenes and conversations passed instantaneously from Velęs's mind to his own, his elation and smile suddenly vanished; if he'd been standing, he might have fallen to his knees, or at least staggered.

The camp destroyed, and burning. His comrades and peers, dead. His training masters, dead. Everyone and everything laid to waste, and only he was spared. Eragon and one other student as well - Miles, but they hadn't been at camp. Had Velęs not quarreled with him, and gone off on her own for a while, she mightn't have survived, either. Never did he think that he would be grateful for them to fight, but he was nothing but. It was a bittersweet feeling, though; he was overwhelmed by a sudden grief for the training camp of the Riders that had come to be his home.

He found it terribly and grimly ironic that Miles had been the only other student to survive. Insolent, out casted, clumsy and awkward, probably the worst swordsmen of them all, and she had been the one to survive. She wasn't about to curse her life, or wish that it had been someone else who had lived in her place – he could never be so cruel. Judging from what he had learned from Velęs and what he dimly remembered, the girl might have saved his own life, and through his, Velęs's life. He would forever be in her debt.

_Ah. She's a fiery one, that hatchling,_ said Velęs with a touch of amusement as she prepared to land. _Sulky all morning. She was as defensive of you as I was, but far less logical and tenfold more stubborn._

_More stubborn than a dragon?_ He thought, amused, _that must have been a sight to behold._

_It was, indeed. _She said, showing him the past few days that he'd been unconscious and he found that he could not suppress a grin. If he had to create a metaphor, he would have said that Miles was as defensive and pushy about what and where and how he should move, if at all, as a Lioness of her cubs; it was something he felt he would find amusement in for years to come. He would probably be laughing outright at the moment, where he not utterly plagued with despair over the death of the beginnings of a new age of Riders only moments before.

His misery at the fall of the order that had begun with so much promise then returned to him as he alighted on that last thought, and as a result he found himself landing with some mixture of mirth and grief which he knew he would not feel again in what remained of his days – and, according to legend, as a result of his bonding to Velęs, those would number more than most.

He dismounted after the other two Riders, taking as long as he could manage to undo the straps which held him into the saddle; somehow he had ended up the only one on a real saddle of the three, while the other two used what looked to be no more than makeshift layers of padding, sewn from some kind of animal hide, or possibly beaten down tree bark – nothing more than a simple layer of padding to keep from abrasions.

He procrastinated making his explanation of what happened, not wanting to let them down that he had not caught a real, good and reliable look at what had laid waste to decades' worth of work.

They all ate in a sullen silence, and he stared at the ground in the middle of them all; careful to keep his features guarded, though he knew the others studied him. He didn't look up or acknowledge their gazes until he finished eating; and, feeling marginally better now that his stomach was not empty, he looked up and cleared his throat.

"I don't have much to tell." He said, looking between the two, but mostly at Miles, finding the gaze of Eragon Shadeslayer, the more disappointed and more guarded of the two, harder to bear. "I was just leaving the mess hall when it began, and I'm assuming I was knocked out. I did see something, though, just before the wall fell…" He paused, unsure of how to explain it.

"I could look at it," said Eragon suddenly, "The memory, I mean. I could examine it, and see if it is a figure I recognize. You would have to allow me into your consciousness, though, and I won't do that without your permission,"

Thaddeus was a bit unsure as to what Eragon meant, having only ever shared minds with Velęs – he had always been under the impression that expanding your mind to communicate with others only something dragons could do, something they'd long since developed to be able to communicate – but, regardless of his confusion, he nodded his consent anyways.

He gasped as an icy cold wave crashed into his mind that had the distinct feel of the man before him, and did his best not to resist it. It was cold, but gentle, and passed over all his memories save the ones of his last day in camp; though Thaddeus had not wished to linger over those longer than necessary, he knew it important that Eragon discover what had done this, and for that reason he endured it.

After a few minutes, the feeling retreated, and Thaddeus opened his eyes, welcoming the feeling of warm sunshine returning to his face.

Eragon abruptly stood up, and said "I'll be back," before turning through the trees and disappearing. No more than a moment behind him, Saphira took off and followed him. The two students looked after them with confusion, but said nothing. In fact, they remained silent for a positively awkward amount of time, Miles casting small looks at Thaddeus and then Thaddeus, in return, casting small looks at Miles; each wondering if the other would speak first.

Finally, after about them minutes of the odd, silent look-casting game, the girl across from him spoke.

"I'm glad you're alright," She said, her voice penetrating the veil of silence that had pervaded the camp since their mentor's departure.

"Thanks," He said, his voice dry with wariness where it had not been only moments before. "And thanks for healing me…" He trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how exactly to put into words how his thanks for what Miles had done. While he was unconscious, Velęs would have been unable to make contact with him through their mental link, and had she not spotted him, he didn't know if he'd be alive. Velęs might have been too large to spot someone trapped into such a small space; he could have very well died trapped under that fallen wall, and he was sure, in the split second that he registered its descent over him, that he was going to.

"Oh – it's, it's no problem." She said, casting a small smile at him and wrapping her arms around her knees protectively, blushing slightly and letting silence fall once more.

_I wonder why it's a big deal for her to talk to me now,_ he said to Velęs, _she'd no trouble speaking up to me at camp to try and make me look foolish._

_I think you know the circumstances are different,_ she said, seemingly amused by something.

_Find something funny, Velęs? _He asked, _I don't get it. She was perfectly adequate at speaking her mind not a week ago, and now a bunch of people we both know – well, I knew more than she, I'll admit – are now dead, and she finds herself tongue tied?_

_Hush._ Velęs responded, her tail twitching in still apparent amusement. _Just make friends with the little Kit._

_Kit?_

_She is like a misbehaved kitten, is she not? Therefore, I refer to her as a kit. It is a fitting nickname, is it not?_

_I suppose so._ Thaddeus suppressed a chuckle, he caught a glimpse of a few conversations between Velęs and Eværín from Velęs's mind.

Returning his conversation to the girl who sat in front of him, looking around with once again increasing awkwardness, he cleared his throat again and spoke. "I didn't know you could use magic." He said.

"Oh, all Riders can – though, come to think of it, I'm not sure I was supposed to tell you that…" She trailed off again, regaining the awkward composure she'd held previously, her old childishly excited demeanor having shown for a few meager seconds.

"Really?" He said, puzzled. "Can you teach me, then?" He asked.

"I – I'm not sure if that's appropriate," she answered, wary.

"But you healed me! I saw, through Velęs's perspective – she showed me! You're great with magic, surely you can teach me something."

"No." She said firmly, "I mean, I healed you, yes – but I couldn't have done it without Eværín's help, I don't have the kind of energy reserves yet and I'm too young to have amassed the knowledge to do it with smaller amounts of energy and to compose spells involving only a few words in the ancient language… If you're using that route of logic to convince me, then you should know that Eragon healed you as well – he's certainlymore advanced in magic than I am, in ways I won't be able to grasp for years. And I'll probably never compare to the likes of an elf. I'm not the person who should teach you."

Thaddeus, however, didn't pay attention to her speech, but did as he was wont to do and focused on the only part that intrigued him. "The ancient language?" He said, "What's that?"

"It's – I shouldn't be telling you this. It should wait until we begin training again, and someone more … adept at teaching can help you." She said, getting up and turning her back to Thaddeus, walking to the edge of the clearing and doing her best to look occupied.

Thaddeus sighed, leaning back, and studied the back of her head intensely, as if he could divulge the answers he craved if only he memorized the back of the girl who held them. He abruptly looked away when she turned back, looking over her shoulder, and frowning.

"Stop staring at me, I'm not going to tell you."

"I could just ask Eragon." He offered.

"Don't be a tell-tale," She answered dismissively.

"I wasn't going to be. I was only going to ask if he would teach me before we reach Ellesméra. That's where were going, isn't it? That's what Velęs told me, and I've a hard time thinking she could be mistaken."

"No, we are." She said simply, sighing and returning back to the middle of the clearing and reoccupying her previous seat. "I wonder how long he'll be gone," Said Miles, casting a look towards the forest where Eragon had disappeared with curiosity.

"I don't know. He always just _leaves_, doesn't he? I mean – no disrespect, or anything – but abruptly just _leaves_ and goes to do something else."

"Exactly!" Miles exclaimed, before clamping a hand over her mouth. Easing it off after a moment, she added, "I mean, I'm sure he's… quite busy?" She offered.

Thaddeus looked at her for a moment before starting to crack up. After an uncertain moment, in which Thaddeus was sure she was going to simply gawk at him and leave him to drown his mirth in silence, she started to laugh, too.

"I'm sure he is," Thaddeus agreed.

"Thank you, Thaddeus," She said, almost sarcastically and still laughing. "I don't even know why I find this so amusing," She confessed.

He shrugged, "Sometimes things are funnier when situations are tense." He said, "And you can call me Thad. Thaddeus is a mouthful,"

"Thad, then," She said, nodding. "I would offer you some kind of nickname to use in return, but I should think Miles is short enough." She shrugged, "But I do believe you might have just said something wise," She informed him.

"Oh?" He said, "Wise, you say? Then I believe that should qualify me to give you a nickname, let me see…" He reclined and pretended to look deep in thought. He told her of the conversation he'd had with Velęs, ending with,"I shall call you 'Kit', then. No objections."

The girl pushed against the side of the massive dragon seated beside her, who had been watching their conversation unfold with a passive interest. "I can't believe you would share that with them," She scolded. Eværín huffed, exhaling a small cloud of smoke into the sky, projecting his mind to say, _I thought it funny._

"Fine," She said, returning her attention to Thad. "Kit and Thad, aren't we a pair?" She smiled.

Just then, Eragon returned to the clearing; appearing just as suddenly as he'd disappeared. "Let's be on our way then," He said, "I contacted Queen Arya, in Ellesméra to speak with her,"

"Wait," Said Miles, standing again and raising one eyebrow, "You found something in Thad's memories? Aren't you going to tell _us_?" she gestured between Thad and herself, and by extension, Eværín and Velęs. "I think we've the right to know," She said, stonily.

"There are many who would punish you for such insolence." He told her, adding, "Never you mind – come, we've much ground to cover, and little time to cover it. It is imperative we reach Ellesméra to resume your training."

"But – !" She started, cut off by a sudden up-rush of air as Saphira took off, leaving her mid-sentence. She fumed at them from below, her fists clenching at her sides as she watched them fade into the sky above. It seemed her earlier bad mood was flooding back to her in full force.

"Let it _go,_ Kit." Said Thad, crawling back onto the saddle on Velęs's back and taking off, relishing the use of the new nickname. _I quite like it,_ he decided, _it does suit her quite well, _he noted with humor as they took off. Velęs chuckled, but they circled the clearing until Eværín rose to meet them, a still angry Miles on his back.

* * *

**_Miles_**

Miles was still slightly angry with her mentor when they landed to camp that evening, her mood fading twice as quickly as before, but still lingering when she touched the ground again. They could have flown through the night, as she suspected they would have had they _really_ needed to reach Ellesméra so urgently, but instead they were landing for the night to make camp and sup together on the ground.

_You would _think – she thought, venting to Eværín for the millionth time that afternoon, _that being two of _five _remaining Riders in the entirety of Alagaësia would entitle you to know what he found in Thad's memories. And it's _Thad's memory!_ If Eragon noticed something, you would think he had the decency to _tell _him! _It's his memory!

_Patience, young one._ He said simply, careening downward into a clearing where she could already see the landed forms of Velęs and Saphira, the gleaming amber and blue sticking out between two curtains of lush green.

She sighed, preparing an apology she was sure would sound as fake as it actually was, but not caring enough to be more genuine; she was still too angry.

Besides her anger with Eragon, she had been quite satisfied with the rest of the morning's break – Thad had woken up, and they'd become friends of a sort, which was nice. She didn't think she'd spoken to anyone besides Eværín with such friendliness in a good few years, as no one at the training camp had really cared to befriend the outcast. She'd forgotten how much she loved to talk to other people.

When they landed, the two men looked up at her, watching her as she dismounted clumsily as ever. She scowled at them, and delivered her completely insincere apology to a highly amused Eragon, even more angered when her refused to take her seriously yet again – most things she did just seemed to amuse him, which was infuriating. She sat down on far from the fire, so that the outermost reaches of its glow were barely able to reach her.

Thaddeus and Eragon spoke at length about a number of things she found she really didn't care for – Sword fighting, mostly, and other combat related topics. Though, she found many comments bubbling up to her mouth when the conversation turned to archery and flying, she kept her mouth shut and continued with her sulking.

She flinched, however, when Thad brought up magic and its uses in combat, explaining what Miles had told him earlier that afternoon and asking Eragon to teach him. She looked at Thad's hopeful face warily, and she felt Eragon gaze at her – very aware, not for the first time, that he did not need the fire to see.

The clearing was silent for a long moment before Eragon spoke again.

"I _did_ say it was imperative that you resume your training as soon as possible. Using magic could well be useful to you in the coming months," He relented, picking up a pebble from the ground and handing it to Thad, who looked at it eagerly. Miles found she did not want to watch the beginnings of the lesson, and left as Eragon began to tutor him in the pronunciation of the words of the ancient language to lift the stone of his hand, and then going on to explain the uses of the ancient language and the uses and limitations of magic in general.

Instead, she curled up beside Eværín, and dropped off to sleep.

The days passed in much the same manner, but it was not more than a week before the reached the elvish city of Ellesméra. Miles got over her anger towards Eragon, and eventually made an actual apology; he told them both that he hadn't really found anything concrete in Thad's memory, and promising – in the ancient language, to Miles satisfaction (she later had to translate for Thad) – that as soon as he knew for sure, he would inform them both.

Gradually, they began to pick up several different aspects of training in the evenings; sparring (to Miles's chagrin) and magic (to both her and Thad's delight). They also meditated, practiced the ancient language profusely, as they would have to speak it fluently among the elves, and performed the Rimgar – Miles most decidedly liked this new way of training.

She had also taken to tutoring Thad in the customs and etiquette that the elves used in the mornings, to save him from embarrassment upon their arrival. It was something she had a great familiarity with, even more so than Eragon – for she'd lived among them for several years, where his training there had only spanned a few months. She told him what to do when confronted with elves of various rank, how to address them, and how to present himself to the guardian of Ellesméra, Gilderien the Wise, to gain entry to the City. She even told him stories about the parts of her childhood spent there.

In return, he told her about his family and upbringing under the Spine's shadow. He told her of his brothers and his parents, of the small community in which he'd lived – not even big enough to really be called a village.

"It wasn't big, but its home," He said, then frowning, "_– was _home." He amended. He fell silent after that, with a brooding and troubled look taking over his face, where before he'd been happily telling her about hunting trips taken with his siblings and of the many customs he'd been raised with. She wanted to say something comforting, but couldn't think of what, so instead simply bade him pleasant dreams and went to bed.

The next morning, she awoke to find that Thad had gone off into the woods to hunt, and Eragon was looking at her curiously from across the fire.

"You talk in your sleep," He said, "What were you dreaming about?"

Miles sat up slowly, apprehensive. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she recalled the dream she'd been having; it was odd, for she'd never before remembered her dreams, until she began to have the same, reoccurring one. It was burned into her memory, and she was able to recall most of the important details.

"I keep having the same one," She said, folding her hands in her lap, "I'm back at camp, and I'm walking towards one of the trees, where I'd go during free time. Its exactly the same as I remember it, except there's a child there… but its not human, though it looks to be. It tells me the same thing everytime…" She trailed off.

He raised his eyebrows, "Go on."

"Something – something about freeing a foolish spirit. It always mentions that…. _'where disasters become connected,_' was the next bit." She exhaled; for some reason, her mind always went foggy when she reached for the exact wording. "And then – she tells me that I have to go to where 'it all began' and that's where I'll find what I'm looking for… and something about solace and aid… I think…? I don't know. It's just a dream."

Eragon looked at her curiously from over the fire, "Miles, have you ever met a werecat?" He asked.

"No," She admitted. She knew that there used to live one in Ellesméra, and perhaps it (he, she?) still did, but Miles had never met it, though she wished she could have. She knew next to nothing about them, but that only served to make her more curious. "I wish. Why?"

"Well, I believe you just have, in a way." He said. He told her how that 'small child' that isn't human was probably a werecat in its semi-human form, "They only talk to humans when they deem it important or necessary. I'd pay attention to what they say, if they speak with you. I did, and it all seemed to turn out okay for me," His mouth twisted downward in a bitter smile, "Well, for the most part."

She nodded, looking down at her hands again, finding it hard to believe her dreams had something to do with the same kind of future-bending adventures of Eragon Shadeslayer. No, this couldn't be anything on that scale – someone would have to notify whoever was in charge of choosing heroes and inform them that she was completely incompetent in just about everything, and order them to reevaluate their choices.

They waited in this silent manner, Miles conversing about nothing on importance with Eværín and she suspected Eragon discussing her dream with Saphira until Thad came back, with three fresh rabbits in his hand. She gave Eragon a look, and saw the same distaste she felt reflected in his eyes.

Of course, Thad, never having meditated or shared the thoughts of a rabbit, would be happy for the meat, and Miles didn't begrudge him. Meat was delicious, but she found herself sickened by the prospect of eating something once she'd shared thoughts with. It wasn't the first time in their venture they'd been forced to hunt and she wasn't about to start speaking up now; she did as she always did, and grit her teeth, eating enough to sustain her and not a bite more.

They were on the fringes of Du Weldenvarden, having skirted its edges for a few days now until they could make a more direct flight to Ellesméra – it would not have been prudent of them to alert the entirety of the elves to the destruction of the new generation of Riders, before Eragon had decided how best to move forward from this point. So, they wanted to spend as little time in the actual forest, camping and traveling, as possible. They'd probably continue on as they had been for another day or so, and then taking a flight of another day to reach Ellesméra.

_Three days, and then we can sleep in real beds, _she mused. She hadn't slept in a proper bed in ages; the half-makeshift bunks for the students were no more than glorified cots built into the walls. Eværín gave a grumble of assent and the image of the special bedding and dips in the floor made especially for dragons flashed across his mind, and she knew he shared the sentiment.

The time passed in quick succession, and she felt nostalgic upon entering the trees under the influence of the elves magic; it was more her home than Dras Leona had been, and she couldn't remember anything about how or where she'd lived with her parents. It was as close to a home as she ever supposed she'd have, and she'd missed it dearly.

The trees were massive, and the forest seemed doubly more alive than any other; it constantly humming with activity. She looked down at the forest dreamily from above as they flew across it in the late afternoon, the sun barely above the line of trees but still invigorated to bathe the earth in bright golden rays.

When they came into the reach of Ellesméra, however, they were forced to dismount and ask permission to pass from Gilderien the Wise, who simply fascinated Thad, though he'd seen elves before. He kept looking back as they walked on from where the image of Ellesméra's guardian faded, and asking questions. Miles answered his questions with what little she knew of the elf, and she suspected that the boy would have many more questions by the days end; he'd never been to a city in Du Weldenvarden before. She knew from experience that it was an enthralling experience at first, and she herself hadn't stopped asking questions for ages of Lútheiņ, forgetting and re-asking questions more often than not.

The day was long, and Miles found she was half as excited as she normally would have been to return to Ellesméra; the journey had felt much longer than it had been, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a long while. True to her prediction, however, Thad kept looking around with wide eyes and rattling off questions whenever he could – which, wasn't often as he probably wanted to; there were many different respects to be paid and etiquette to uphold, ceremonies to be observed. As a result, it was a good while before they were settled in the quarters often offered to Riders during their stay in elvish cities.

Though she'd lived on the outskirts of Ellesméra as opposed to the tree houses, Miles didn't explore the new suite of rooms too much before falling into the bed and falling asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.

* * *

A.N. - again, I didn't get this up as soon as I'd wanted to. Its getting harder to find the time two write and edit things to my satisfaction, as I've got sports starting up and school soon. I feel as if this chapter got farther than the last, so hopefully I'm getting better at that :)

*Borrowed from The Princess Academy, by Shannon Hale; all my attempts at poetry are quite dismal.


	5. The Crags of Tel'naeír

Miles awoke in the morning feeling more refreshed than she thought she could feel after a single nights' rest. She could hardly recall the exhaustion that dragged at her limbs the night before, clouding her return to Ellesméra and causing her to not remember the way around her new quarters: she awoke and walked into a small room with a desk – presumably a study or library – and expecting it to be the washroom.

Miles had lived in Ellesméra after Eværín first hatched for her in quarters much the same as those she currently resided in; only, these were not located on the ground. She was in a tree house of some kind, located in some relative distance to those which housed Thad and Eragon, though the latter's was significantly larger than that of the two students; Eragon was housed in the quarters that belonged the Leaders of the Dragon Riders for centuries, and had to be suitable to hold meetings of great import; though, at the moment, the entirety of the Riders spanned about five people. That was a bit depressing.

She was happy, however, with her own quarters; the small library held a number of interesting scrolls, and there was small washroom and a bedroom large enough for Eværín and herself, all decorated in a simplistic style. Really all she cared about was the fact that the windows allowed the sunlight to enter her room properly – there was no feeling like waking up with the sun's rays to warm your bed.

She was also delighted to see that someone had brought up some clothes for her to change into, and she happily departed with the overlarge shirt, worn leggings and boots which had been her garb for the journey, and indeed, much of her training in the East. She washed the grit of the journey from her body, and feeling more refreshed than ever, she descended from her tree house, savoring the feeling of the cloth's soft touch on her freshly cleaned skin. She walked in search of Thad and Eragon, curious as to what would happen next now that they'd reached Ellesméra.

It seemed the two had not fared as well as she had in the night, once she found them – they both still looked quite tired and worn, despite the fact that they'd bathed and changed clothes, and had a good nights' rest. Or what should have been a good nights' rest.

"Sleep well?" She asked, her voice overly sweet and bestowing upon them one of her childish smiles. They both made noncommittal noises and Eragon mentioned for them to follow him. They walked in silence, the three of them ahead while Eværín, Saphira and Velęs flew above them. Quickly bored with the way the morning was proceeding, Miles decided to engage in one of her best newly-rediscovered talents: talking.

She chattered pleasantly at the two, knowing full well and not really caring that they weren't listening, and reveling in the wonderful scenery of the forest. She talked about the plants, and she talked about the animals; even venturing to call one or two down from the treetops with a few words from the ancient language. She was so pleased with herself and happy to simply be walking among the enchanted trees of Du Weldenvarden again that she hardly noticed anything else until Eragon stopped short, with a bemused sort of expression, holding an arm out for Thad and Miles to stop as well.

"Angela?" He asked incrudiculously. Miles looked up belatedly, a wide and undiminished smile still gracing her face; Thad said nothing.

"Eragon." It was a woman with brown hair, only a few inches taller than Miles herself, who seemed to emit an air of dottiness that Miles took an instant liking to. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you here." She frowned a bit, and examined Miles and Thad each, "I supposed I shouldn't be surprised; you always seem to be at the root of anything interesting."

"What are you doing in Ellesméra?" He asked, unphased by anything the woman had said – presumably her name was Angela. "I thought – you live among the elves now?"

"I've told you before; I like to be where things are happening." She said, "Now don't be rude – introduce me to your apprentices." She swatted his arm like a misbehaved child.

Eragon still seemed mystified at the woman's appearance – Miles was surprised as well, but not unpleasantly so; she'd never heard of another human living amongst the elves as she had, or at least seen one; she'd read about quite a few cases over the courses of history while she studied previously. Besides; this woman seemed awfully interesting – but not as interesting as the cat who stood at her ankles. His fur was shaggy and dark, and his eyes flashed with intelligence. The smile on Miles's face grew impossibly wide and her mind was abruptly filling with so many questions, she would have feared her mind would burst had there been any room.

He haltingly introduced Thad and Miles, and now it was Miles's turn to pay zero attention.

"Excuse me," Said Miles, disregarding the ongoing conversation and speaking with as polite a tone as she could muster over her excitement, "But are you a werecat?" She was positive it was – for it was unlike any cat she'd ever seen – she just didn't have another way of politely broaching the topic. If that could even be called polite.

The woman cut off what she was about to say with a look of amusement at Miles, appraising her, it seemed, with new eyes.

_Yes,_ the creature said simply, sitting down and licking one of its paws as Miles's eyes widened. She didn't dare respond with her own mind to respond back to the creature with her questions, and she didn't care enough in the moment to risk sounding stupid aloud to the people surrounding her.

"That's _fascinating_," She said, crouching down to his level to look at him more closely. The werecat opened one eye upon her descent to his eyelevel, and he eyed her with something that was not quite interest nor distaste. "What's your name?"

_Solembum,_ He replied.

"Where on earth did you get such a name?"

_It simply is, as all things are._

"Your mother didn't name you?"

_No._

"You must have some frightfully good stories to tell."

_To be sure._

"Would you tell me one?"

Solembum took a break from licking his paw then to look the girl in the eyes fully. He seemed contemplative, and gave her a look as if she were a half-wit, before a sudden flash of fascinating images of what Miles was sure was some kind of outlandish fairy tale flashed through her mind in an instant; somehow making perfect sense. She gasped, and then smiled with delight.

"Surely that was a fairy tale!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, don't let him tell you falsehoods." Said Angela, grasping Miles by the elbow, and pulling her back up to her standing height. "Werecats are many things – among them good liars."

_I resent that,_ said Solembum, getting up and padding away, _I lie no more than you do._

Angela let out a "pshaw!" and they watched the cat fade into the trees before Angela returned her gaze to the girl.

"Gods above, Eragon, I do believe you might have found yourself someone with even more questions than you,"

"Nothing wrong with a few questions," Said Eragon calmly; as usual, he was amused.

Angela snorted again, "If questions were rain drops, you could easily drench the Hadarac Desert between the two of you." She cast an eye towards Thad. "This one's got some sense in him, at least. You'll need that." She said, and relinquished Miles.

The spot where Angela had held her arm in a firm, but not unkind, grip tingled slightly as Miles rejoined the line formed by Eragon, Thad and herself.

"Who are you?" Asked Miles, after a moment's brief silence. Angela looked at the girl yet again, a twinkle in her eye.

"Angela," She said, "But, before you besiege me with questions, child, I must be off. I've matters to attend to before things heat up around here, and you never know how quickly that'll be with _this_ one around," She gestured towards Eragon, before hefting a basket full of what looked to be the most curious herbs Miles had ever had the pleasure to see – a fanciful one that caught her eye before disappearing below the brim of the basket; it was a shade of blue like Miles had never seen before set with shocks of green. Had she not been ordered seconds before to stop asking questions – well, ordered of a sort – she would have asked at once what it was. Even with her extensive studies of herbology of both magical and natural kinds, she was surprised that she did not have the smallest inkling as to what it could be.

She looked up at them, once the basket was situated on her hip, surprised that they hadn't left yet. "Go on, then!"

"How did you know –" Miles began, before being cut off again by the woman.

"Go on now, on your way," she said with a bright, flashing smile, and Thad and Miles walked on at Eragon's urging.

As soon as Miles thought Angela was out of earshot, another smile broke onto her face, and she was positively vibrating with excitement.

"She was _fascinating_ –" Said Miles, turning towards the other two as much as she could while still walking.

Thad gave her an odd expression, something that was not quite exasperation, but held promise for a truly long suffering look in time. He said, "Are you always this way?"

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Your so – excited, about everything," He said.

Miles huffed, "We trained in the same camp for how many years, Thad, and you can't answer that question?" She folded her arms and pretended great affront. "I'm quite hurt. Some peer you are." It didn't surprise Miles that Thad didn't really know something that she felt was quite basic to her personality; she was so overlooked at camp by most, that she tended to just sort of blend into the scenery after awhile. People who might have shown her kindness in the beginning simply learned to look past her – she didn't fault them.

He shrugged, apparently thinking the same thing, but acting less comfortable with the thought. _He probably didn't even noticed I was so… bullied,_ she noted to Eværín, disliking the last word but having no other term to use in its place. _He's a good sort. I feel like I should say something._

_I wouldn't,_ Eværín advised, _what could you? You were bullied, plain as day. It was just commonplace._

Miles heaved an inner sigh, _ I know. But – did you _see _the werecat, Eværín? A_ werecat!_ And that Angela – I bet they've loads of interesting things to tell! – I can't_ _even begin to wrap my mind around them, and we only had a few moments' fleeting conversation. _She rambled on about the two overlong; thankfully, Eværín was patient as usual and listened to her thoughts in their entirety, with interest even, before remarking that they must find where this Angela lived so that Miles could ask her some of her questions.

_So that I am not driven insane by the weight of them, _he reasoned. The thought brought another of her smiles to her face.

She had been so caught up with her conversation with Eværín that she didn't even notice the silence which had descended upon the trio; each had been caught up in their own world. Or, she suspected, each had been caught up in some conversation with their respective dragons.

"So, where are we going?" She asked Eragon, breaking the silence. She suspected they were headed to the place where they were to train for the extent of their time in Ellesméra; she was more than eager to discover its location. A plethora of fanciful images danced through her mind, but she dismissed them; after all, it wasn't likely that they could find a volcano in the middle of Du Weldenvarden. In fact, she didn't think she knew the location of a single volcano in all of Alagaësia _– _as usual, she only even knew of their existence from one scroll or another found in the elves' extensive collection.

_I wonder if we could ever find one – perhaps if we flew far enough east?_ She said.

_I'll add it to the list,_ said Eværín, his tone speckled with fondness.

"The Crags of Tel'naeír," Eragon responded, "It was where I was trained; it seems fitting now that I pass on my own instruction from its peaks."

Miles nodded. The name rang a faint bell in the back of her mind, but she couldn't place the location among the many equally interesting ones she'd encountered in her childhood; couple those with the numerous fantastic celebrations, and the fascinating elves she met, and in truth she'd found them all fascinating – could you blame her for forgetting such a thing? She had been but a child, after all, and while her memory was made keen by her bond to Eværín, she was still a human child with such limitations.

So, she was excited to see this new terrain. The three kept on their walk in silence, and Miles had to wonder why they were making such a trek when the other two were so obviously tired, and it could be managed it in flight quite easily.

_Perhaps the view of the landscape is more impressive on foot?_ Eværín offered.

_I guess I'll find out._

And find out she did; some distance outside Ellesméra, the trees dropped away sharply, revealing a dramatic landscape that Miles would have thought fit in perfectly with the numerable scenes dismissed – even by her – as too fanciful.

She supposed she should have imagined something of the rocky recesses' of stone that seemed to sparkle with a natural grace in the midday sun when she'd heard the name of the Crags of Tel'naeír. The sight took her breath away – below her the ground dropped away just as suddenly as the trees had, and jagged up to the sky to meet her in several places. Atop the rock formations on the edges of the forest stood a small hut, with a small bit of smoke trickling out of the chimney.

Once their group converged on the hut only a few moments later, and the Queen whom had met them only yesterday, to Miles's surprise, was the one inside. She was seated by the fire, her forest-green dress fanned around her perfectly and a golden circlet adorning her brow.

She was sipping from a cup of what smelled to be peppermint tea, and a kettle was hung over a fire that was so small, it was a wonder it didn't flicker and retreat beneath the glowing twigs that it was situated upon. Arya looked up when the three darkened the doorstep with a small smile and mentioned gracefully for them to come inside.

Eragon led the other two inside, and made a bow to the seated woman, who merely waved it away.

"Come, let us do without these courtesies – they will only serve to shorten our already limited time." She said and gestured for them all to sit.

They did so, Thad and Miles looking between the two curiously. Miles had to bite her tongue to keep from spitting out her questions about why they had met the queen there and what were they going to do? What about the camp? What about the thing seen in Thad's memories? What were they going to do in the future?

_A question to answer your questions? _Asked Eværín, speak to her through their mental link.

_Mm?_

_Why are you asking so many questions?_

_Aha. You're hilarious, to be sure._

Miles returned her attention to Queen Arya and Eragon, and focused on keeping herself as contained as possible. This proved difficult for her, and with each question that clawed its way into being, she bit down on her tongue with increasing intensity; so hard was the pressure by the time Eragon spoke, she feared that she might draw blood. He might have said something to her about looking so lock-jawed, but he seemingly had eyes only for the queen.

"What news?" He asked.

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips once more. "None yet, Eragon, I sent out a small group of elves and set my scholars to work at your request, but it was only a week ago. Even elves need time to accomplish such things; you must be more patient."

"I've not dealt with these things for many a year now; the readjustment is still forthcoming," he responded, a dry smile appearing on his own lips for but a moment, before the two began to speak again; though what they were actually talking about completely alluded Miles, and she suspected, Thad. He gave Miles an uncomfortable look, a question in his eyes, and she stifled a laugh, shaking her head minutely to indicate that she didn't know what the subject of the conversation was either.

Thad cleared his throat, to which Eragon's eyes flicked to the two students and another smile flashed at the edges of his lips.

"Ah, yes. We've spoken cryptically." He said, finally paying attention to the two students. "I believed it important that you know some of the information on what happened in the East while your training resumes here. It is quite possible that whatever we're dealing with will be something both of you must face in combat; it is best, then, that you be aware of what you're up against. Though we've only a few ideas of what it could be, it is imperative that we all prepare for each eventuality; starting with the most likely, and ending with the least. Make sense?" Miles and Thad shook their heads in unison, obedient as overgrown schoolchildren. "Good."

They both looked at him expectantly for a moment, until it was made clear that they were both dismissed from the hut. Thad was the first to stand up, and he yanked Miles up from her sitting position after she didn't follow, her brow furrowed.

_So they aren't going to tell us yet? What was the point in that?_ Miles said to Eværín.

_Hush. I'm sure you'll know in good time._ He responded.

_But I'm no good with patience __– y_ou know that. She said as they passed through the door of the small hut and into the bright sunlight of the early afternoon. Thad still had yet to let go of her arm; his grip was surprisingly strong, and it wasn't as if she was even trying to escape from his grasp. She knew if she was ever forced to attempt it, she would most likely not end up escaping.

"You could let go, you know," she said.

"Oh," He responded, looking down at his own hand with some measure of surprise, "Would you believe I forgot I was holding you?"

"No, but it's alright anyways." She said, and he let go of her arm. She rubbed the spot, and looked at him warily. "Have you always been this strong?" she asked, a bit jealous. All her life she'd been scrawny and small; she'd always wondered what it would like to have the ability to do things like drag people from situations and hold them back without the use of her entire body weight, or even to have the simple ability to stand up to people and hold her own without being completely battered to pieces. She often spoke her mind and stood up to people despite her utter lack of strength, but it would be nice to not get a black eye in the process.

"I suppose so," He said, shrugging as if it were not something of any importance. She huffed, and sat down, her head leaning on her hands; though they were just outside the hut, next to Eværín and Velęs, they couldn't hear a thing of the discussion inside the hut. Saphira soon departed with the company of Arya's dragon, one of brilliant green scales named Fírnen.

"I confess I feel rather left out of things," She said to Thad as he sat down next to her. He chuckled.

"I'm sure if it was necessary for us to know, we'd know it." He said, "Have a little faith." Miles wacked him on the arm with all her meager strength.

"Oh shut up," she said, "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

He had the courtesy to mutter an "Ow!" and rub his arm a bit before responding to her question, which made Miles laugh. "Yes," He admitted, "But_ I_, unlike _some people,_" he gave her a comically pointed look, "know when to pursue my curiosity, and when to keep silent."

"Psh, there's no such thing as a bad curiosity,"

"Curiosity killed the cat," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Do I need to remind you that you aren't my mother?" He shook his head, smiling, before changing the subject.

"No, but I'd like to hear about your mother. I've told you about my family – its only fair you tell me about yours."

"That makes two of us," She said, examining her nails and avoiding his gaze, "I'm surprised you thought I knew – I could name a good few Riders who delighted in calling me "the Whore's girl,""

He frowned, "Not to speak ill of the dead, or anything," he said with a tone of reproach.

"I didn't insult them. I'm sure they were fine people. Their dragons seemed to think so, anyways," she responded, her eyebrows raised.

"Do you know nothing?"

"Only that she lived in Dras Leona at some point, for all I know she could still be alive, though I doubt it; I don't know her name, where she was born, even if she was married. I doubt it. Unless you were getting at some other point I would have no knowledge of?"

"No, that was what I meant. You were raised completely on your own, then?"

"No. I had an older sister."

"Well, whats she like?"

"She _was_ like every other girl, I suppose – she liked pretty things and music, from what I can remember. Her favorite color was yellow. Her name was Elizabeth."

"Is she - ?" He left the question open ended, but he didn't have to finish it for Miles to catch the meaning. She nodded. "I'm sorry," he said. And what's more, he seemed to mean it; his eyebrows knitted together and he looked at her with brooding eyes. He was genuinely sorry, as even the adults hadn't really been when she was a child; he was sorry she'd been forced to raise herself for the years that she did on the streets.

She gave him a thin smile and shrugged, "It was years ago. Besides, it's not like it was your fault." She elbowed him, "Tell me about Woadark lake, instead."

His nose wrinkled and he began to dig a small hole in the dirt that sat between them, "You don't want to hear about that. I've already bored you enough on that topic. Isn't there anything else you want to hear about?"

"No." She said, "You have to tell me about it, because I've got no parents and therefore you pity me – go on then. Tell me about your family."

He laughed. "We're on some dramatic landscape in the middle of Du Weldenvarden, right outside of Ellesméra and all its wonders, and after all that on top of what's happened, you want to hear about my family?" He said.

"Well you asked about my family first," she said.

"But I've already told you a bit about mine – I didn't know anything about yours, it was only fair."

"Well, now you know everything I know. Wouldn't it be 'only fair' of you to tell me all you know?"

"We'd be here all week!" He said, laughing again.

"Well then you'd better get started. I'll settle for everything we can fit inside the time we're to spend here." He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, then… how do I start? I've got three brothers, and I'm as in the middle as you can be. The oldest is married, and he had a child on the way when I left. His name is Lakel. The youngest was around eight, named Aso … I was closest with the next oldest, after me, Lance." They spent much of the afternoon that way, a small smile unconsciously curling at the edges of Thad's mouth, while he methodically dug at the ground, and Miles sitting cross-legged next to him, watching with wistful eyes. It was only when she heard stories of other people's homes that she realized just how much she'd missed out on when she'd neglected to have a proper childhood.

She placed a great stock in hearing small tales of when people were children; it was easy to tell if someone was of innately good character from what they talked about, the things they observed and how they treated their parents. Of course, she hardly got to hear the extent of someone's childhood as she was able to hear of Thad's, but she was pleased to hear it all the same.

Once or twice, he would sit up, or give her a look through his eyelashes and say, "I'm boring you, aren't I?" She would shake her head, or otherwise encourage him to continue. He would pick up where he left off, finishing the story of his youngest brother stealing freshly baked sweets off the windowsill where they were set to cool, or of some mishap on a hunting trip accompanied by any combination of siblings, and then promptly launch into another tale about his parents, or of the families who lived around him.

Eventually, Miles found herself heavy-lidded and curled up against the hut, facing Thad as he arduously dug at his little trench, which by now looked like the work of a very short and sharp claw. She was curled with her knees tugged tightly into her chest, her head buzzing with stories; it made her mind slow and sluggish, she felt as if she were the one who'd been raised by Woadark Lake instead of Dras Leona. She was aware that she could only have had a slight insight into the years spent on the shore of the lake that Thad described as, "Well, bloody massive – to me, anyways – boring, too. Good for fish, though, if you can catch 'em. The number of times I had to drag Aso out of there before he drowned… I'll never forget the time – " and he would launch into another story.

"I hope you realize how vicariously I'm living through you," She told him.

He smiled, "Ah, but your childhood was so much more interesting than mine."

"Yes, watching my sister starve, fending for myself on the streets, never sleeping in the same alleyway twice. Fascinating." He winced, his smile fading and looking apologetic. "It's fine, don't apologize. Besides, I ended up here eventually" She said, gesturing around to the woods, "So that's interesting and good and things. But your home sounds so much... I don't know, _nicer._ More quaint, or something of that nature."

He laughed, "Now _that_ would amuse my mother."

"Would it? See, I wouldn't know."

"You should meet her sometime…" He said, hanging the statement in the air between them like a question, looking up at her, and stopping his methodic digging to look at her quizzically. She took a deep breath, pretending to look thoughtful.

"Well... I mean… oh, don't be thick, of course I want to!" She said, tackle hugging him as fiercely as she could while they were both still sitting, and her from such an awkward position. She didn't even know why she felt the hug was necessary, but it just felt right to her.

He coughed awkwardly. "Um… good, then." He said, and she laughed and pulled back. She sat cross-legged, again, and put her head in her hands.

"'Limited time', eh?" Said Miles, "I figured we'd be out here for an hour, tops. We've been out here all afternoon. Not that I'm complaining,"

Thad coughed, and it was only then that she realized Eragon and Arya had come to the doorway of the hut; the Queen, it seemed was on the departure. She scrambled up next to him with the usual complete lack of grace, her face coloring into a violent shade of red.

They saw the Queen off, and then went inside the hut once more; Thad and Miles followed by Eragon, who had stayed outside long enough to watch Arya fade into the horizon on Fírnen. They ate supper there, with Miles asking what questions she could fit in about Angela and Solembum, and then a few about Arya and a good few about random topics that came to her mind, just to ask them. Though, those of the Elvish Queen, he declined to answer.

Eragon announced to them that they were to begin their training anew with earnest the next morning, and that they were to fly back to this spot at daybreak, an announcement which led to Miles's last question;

"And _why_ did we have to walk?

* * *

_**↬Eragon**_

Eragon had been unable to sleep upon his return to Ellesméra. Never again had he thought to set foot in Alagaësia again; hadn't the prophecy he'd received all those years ago in Tierm told him he would leave the land of his birth forever? He hadn't thought to step a foot back into Du Weldenvarden, nor any other land he was familiar with; much less to spend another night in the quarters in which he'd stayed while training under Oromis.

_Perhaps you were simply not meant to leave yet,_ comforted Saphira from where she was curled up in her own bed.

_Perhaps._ He sat up on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands as he tried to sort out his thoughts.

_And Arya…_ he knew that he'd still loved her when he left Alagaësia, all those years ago, when he went to start the Riders anew. Yet, he thought it might have dulled somewhat over the years; seeing her again earlier that evening, when he first beheld her again, was enough to tell him that if anything, his affection for her had grown. When he looked at her, it still sent small shocks down his spine, and he found his still treasured her smiles above just about everything else.

_I didn't even think I'd see her again, really._ He confessed to Saphira. He knew she felt a surge of emotions at the sudden change in their fortunes as he was; her pleasure at seeing Fírnen again was insurmountable at first, and she left for a number of hours with him when they had arrived in Ellesméra; both Arya and Eragon had shared a knowing and amused look when they disappeared, and their presence was anything but unnoticed; Eragon recounted with some mixture of nostalgia and humor when Roran and Katrina would sneak out in much the same manner during village gatherings back in Carvahall, only they were the same size as the rest of the attendants, and were able to successfully disappear without Sloan or any others noticing. Except him, of course.

Sloan, he knew, had long since passed into the void. He had never felt any affection for the butcher after all that had happened, but he had still felt some measure of loss. It had just been another part of some long-ago life he'd had in Carvahall that had left his life; and just like the rest, he moved on.

He wondered what might happen next. If Arya's scholars were able to prove him right, and if the group of elves she'd dispatched to search the eastern Beor Mountains came across the proper marks… they would be up against something no one even thought existed, and his world threatened to collapse into tumult all over again.

Giants – he would be fighting _giants._

They were something that Bards told stories about, and one of the few things that magic had never given any sort of explanation or indication of; it was an old story that he'd never put any stock into, despite what he'd been through in his earlier years.

But what else would leave such a print?

Since his discoveries of the footprints that looked curiously human, only vastly more massive, the elves had been able to uncover a number of scrolls in the deepest recesses of their collections – those written by the Grey Folk, handed down through ages of time and coveted by any scholars who came in contact of them. They all confirmed the existence of giants, but gave little explanation on them past that.

From what could be gleamed from the aged scripts came several theories, only a few fitting the current circumstances; and of those each more outlandish than the last.

_This questions everything_, said Eragon, _they would be able to tell us what lies further East than even we've gone. What if we could make allies of them? What if they are Giants? I wonder… I wonder…_

_You've got more questions than the girl does,_ said Saphira, sleepily, an image of a girl with bright purple eyes and long, drooping brown hair slipped across their mental link. The girl, Miles, did indeed ask almost more questions than Eragon, himself, had asked at her age – which was truly an accomplishment, he had to admit.

He chuckled to himself. _That I do. Just wonder at how many she'll have to suppress when we tell them of this._

_We should send it to them in a letter, and then they can't bother us until they've subsided._ She said.

He shook his head, standing up and went to the doorway of the tree house; as he'd hoped, it was now close enough to dawn that someone had left clothes for him outside the door, just as they had all those years ago upon his first visit to the Elvish Capital.

_Some things never change,_ he mused, bringing the clothes inside. After he bathed and slipped them on, he left the tree house. _Coming? _he asked of Saphira upon reaching the ground.

He felt rather than heard her yawn, and she replied; _In a moment._

She took off out of the large window in a flash of dazzling blue scales, which glittered in the grey light of the dawn.

_Good,_ he said, _I've got some friends I want to say hello to…._

After a brief walk through Ellesméra, saved only from losing his way only due to Saphira's magnificent memory, he came across the place where he'd first spoken with Rhunön, and where she had – through him – created the blade he had carried since their last meeting, Brisingr.

He had meant to have Arya speak with the smith on the subject of Rider's swords; hoping that the difference of the order he had begun to resurrect would free her from her oaths, and she would be willing to create blades for them once more. However, on the few conversations he and Arya had managed to have, it had never come up and he had neglected to remember.

It didn't take him long to reach the elf's forge, and she was as he had first seen her; hard at work, this time on some kind of dagger. It was clearly finely wrought, as all her creations were, burning cherry-red as she removed it from the flames. Then, using some kind of tool Eragon could not identify, the elf began to make minute ridges in the metal while still maintaining a flawless shape for almost any use. The end result, he predicted, would be so beautiful, many would not be able to tear their eyes from it when presented with it.

"Rhunön-elda," He said respectfully, bowing when she looked up from the metal. Not because she'd wanted to greet a guest by any means; it was only when the metal had grown too cold to be further molded. She wiped a bit of sweat off her brow and waved him off as he began the ritual greeting of the elves. He had expected such a reaction, but it was expected of him to at least try.

"Yes, yes – I thought I'd be seeing you. Ever since Arya came to notify me yesterday that you were returning, I thought you'd come to talk to me…"

Eragon looked confused, "That was a week ago," He said. No matter how many times he spoke with the elf, she never failed to throw him off. _Has she not slept in a week? _He asked Saphira.

_It would fit the image,_ she remarked.

"Well, then you should know that I have come to make a request." He said.

She braced herself, as if knowing exactly what would come from his lips next. "Out with it, then, go on. I've got work to do,"

"I've come to ask if you would take up your previous post, and make swords for the Riders."

She growled in exasperation, and taking up a pair of tongs to plunge the unwrought metal back into the hot coals in front of her. "You know of my oaths, Shadeslayer." She said.

"Yes, and you could not make me a sword – perhaps, because I was the last of the old Riders, a different order. The one that my students – " he paused, the words still tasting strange in his mouth, and sounding strange in his ears – "begin is a new order all its own. I know not in how many ways, only that it is so. So, it is on their behalf that I come to beseech you: will you attempt it, for their benefit?"

She sighed, checking the metal – it was yet unready – and thinking for a long moment. Eragon stood patiently as she began to heat the coals using the same pair of bellows, willing to stay as long as possible to convince her.

"Yes." She said, the word squeezed between her teeth as she spoke it; it was neither a hiss or a curse, which pleased him. He was also greatly pleased that he had only to spend the time he had to convince her to undertake this; he had expected to be there all day, and it would have been a price gladly paid. He knew that those swords would be invaluable to Miles and Thad as their strength began to develop into that of a fully blown Rider.

He began to thank her, but she cut him off, "I agreed to try, Shadeslayer." She said, "But I know not if I shall succeed. None of us knows the full nature of the ancient language when used in every context; not even the elves. So, I give you my word that I shall try, and nothing more."

He nodded, bowing again, "I understand. We shall disturb you no further," She gave a humph and returned to her work, seemingly eager to have them gone.

_Well that went well,_ said Saphira.

_Indeed, I was surprised she agreed so easily. Not that I'm complaining._

_Neither should you, what you have accomplished will be worth much to the hatchlings. Shall you tell them?_

_Not until they're needed._

_You can't simply make a sword appear,_ she reminded him, and his time creating Brisingr flashed across his mind, _these things take time._

_At least the brightsteel is already found,_ he pointed out, _but you are right, of course. I said I wouldn't disturb her futher, but I wonder if I should ask that she begin them as soon as possible… but, knowledge of a fighting style is necessary – _

_Fighting, not dropping._ Eragon laughed at that: Miles had possibly the worst ability to fight, or even to hold a sword, as he had ever seen.

_I like to call it intelligent fighting, _he told her, _she uses her wits. That's more than some, and it sounds more generous than trickery._

The growling laughter of dragons filled his ears, and he smiled. _Trickery – even so, she was able to beat you only once._

_That is also more than some._

_Even so…_

_I don't understand your meaning,_ he said, returning to the previous discussion, _what is your advice: That I go back now, and request she begin the work now, or shall I wait a little while longer and risk them not being ready, should we have to go out and face these – presumably – giants without them?_

_I would suggest waiting longer, but only a small amount: a week or two. I would bring the hatchlings with you when you go. _Eragon thought it over for a brief moment before agreeing.

Walking back to the quarters of given to the Riders, which had lain unoccupied since he last departed Alagaësia. Arya had had her apartments as Queen in Tialdarí Hall altered so that Fírnen could stay in them, and Murtagh had yet to make use of them.

He had spoken to Murtagh only a few days ago; he had agreed to come to their aid, and Eragon expected he would be their soon. He had planned to spend a few days in Ilirea before coming to Du Weldenvarden. Eragon smiled at the thought.

_I'm sure Nasuada will be happy to see him,_ he remarked.

_Indeed,_ answered Saphira with equal amusement.

Murtagh would then help him with the progress of Miles and Thaddeus's training, and they would be all the more ready to face any sort of combat that they might encounter.

_I don't suppose you would agree to leave the hatchlings?_ Said Saphira.

_How do you think I would have felt in their position? _He retorted, _leaving them behind will not be something they forgive me for. I wouldn't have liked it, at their age, either._

_That is not a fair comparison: the circumstances differ._

_Do they? If they do, they will only be the safer. So long as they work hard and don't prove a danger to themselves and others, I don't see why they should be held back from accompanying us._

_Then I do believe you might be leaving one at home._ The image of Miles in her padding as her dragon carried her over the horizon to the training fields that time ago in New Vroengard was sent across their mental link, and Eragon's stomach twinged with pity. The girl seemed to have a rather unfortunate inadeptiveness towards the blade, though he'd been attempting to help her as much as he could – she still didn't excel as much as he would have thought normal.

_At least she's exceptional with magic,_ he said. _For her age, I would have been impressed with half as she is capable of._

_Yes, at least there is that._

_I'll have to see about getting her something more to store energy in than that necklace. If she had enough energy, she could prove a real asset, and she would not have to be left behind._

_I agree._ She said, and their conversation ended as they returned to the series of tree-houses, and the image of Thaddeus descending from his quarters on the back of his dragon, Velęs, came into sight. He looked as if he had slept no better than Eragon had – he had Eragon's sympathy for that, though he didn't intend to have them do any real work that day besides walking through Du Weldenvarden.

Miles, on the other hand, appeared to have slept like an infant, and descended only a few moments later, accompanied by Eværín. They were a curiously matching pair: the dragon's amethyst scales matching the small, scrawny girl's large, purple eyes. The elves had not failed to notice the similarity, and Miles was also adorned in a purple tunic and matching leggings – the two truly displayed their inseparable bond as no Dragon and Rider had before.

The thought of the prophecies she'd been getting in her dreams rose unbidden to the forefront of his consciousness, and he couldn't help the feeling that the girl was not all she seemed, even as a Rider – he was curious to know her parentage, though she herself didn't know.

_I didn't know my parentage at her age – and look at where I am, and look at what I've done._

No, clumsy as she was, Eragon knew she couldn't be a mere Rider, even though that term within itself was contradictory.

* * *

A.N. - Well, I braved the Eragon POV! I just hope I did it justice like I aimed for - and Angela, Solembum, and Rhunön as well. Hope it wasn't too long :)


	6. My Burden to Bear

Miles lay on her stomach, her hands propping up her chin and her eyes glued to the scroll on the desk, eagerly scanning the script that ran along the page; faded, black and highly informative. She hadn't had the time to read like this for ages, and she was surprised at how much she'd missed it.

She was extremely content with just about everything at the moment; she would have considered the day largely a success, which was more than what she could say of a majority of the days spent training at New Vroengard. Of course, it had been hard work, and she was beginning to feel sore, but what was a little bit of exertion? It was completely unlike being humiliated day in and day out, and she didn't mind exchanging that for a little bit of extra hard work that didn't involve excessive bruising. She'd even managed to keep ahold of her sword for most of the day – though, that wasn't all they'd done, to her relief.

Thad was still a complete natural with the blade, of course. She watched him practice with Eragon that afternoon for what felt like hours – the way they sparred was truly like art; the flashing silver and blue as their blades spun through the air, bodies twisting and dancing around one another mixed with bits of sky and wind as their weapons whistled through the air. She only wished she could so something with the talent and ease that they, among a few others, managed with swordsmanship.

At the end of the day, Eragon had loaded them both down with scrolls, to her delight and Thad's chagrin. There were histories and biographies and all sorts of widely ranging topics to be seen; and what he had given them to read was but a sampling of the scrolls found in the house. Miles all but drank in the words as they fell off the page, absorbing the information like a flower soaked up the summertime sun. She barely afforded each scroll enough time to scan the accompanying fantastic landscapes painted along their edges with such brilliant workmanship, she felt it would be a shame and a waste to not look at and appreciate them at all. But, the veritable mountain of scrolls drew her to carefully roll them back up before too long and rush on to the next one.

A dozen times or so she scrambled backwards off her chair, falling over as often as not, and crash to the floor. She picked herself back up with undiminished enthusiasm to rushed into the central chamber of the tree house, leaning over to peer into the bedroom shout some fascinating fact to Eværín – regardless of the fact that his mind was melded to her own, and she could simply communicate through their mental link; that was hardly any fun!

He would huff in response and not open his eyes, uneager to encourage her. She would simply smile and return to her studies, unaffected.

When she fell into bed that night, fully exhausted of eyes, mind and body, and yet she could hardly remember ever being so happy. She felt it should be wrong, that she should be morning the loss of so many Riders and Dragons, not to mention the training masters to parish alongside them, but she couldn't muster any feeling other than contentment. She knew that Thad and Eragon both felt it; but she'd never fit into the rhythm of the camp like they had, and had always been an outsider – it had always just been her and Eværín.

It wasn't that either of them were truly depressed – thrown into grief and unable to go through the day or some such thing. It was shown in other ways, smaller ones. They never really seemed completely happy, and they both had a kind of mirrored tiredness in their eyes – Thad's shoulders always seemed to have a sort of droop to them when he wasn't doing anything of importance. She felt like her excitement and enthusiasm was out of place, and slightly awkward, but she as too sensitized to it to pay much attention. Or, at least not at first.

It became increasingly obvious to her in the conversations she shared with Thad in their spare moments that he missed a fair number of people; his family among them. He always slipped names into their conversation that she would dimly be able to put a face too, but more often than not, the face she put to them was someone tripping her up as she walked through the mess hall, or whispering something to a friend, laughing, and casting her pointed look. It made her stomach twist into a painful knot at times, but she had long since been able to let such past offenses go – she only wished there was some way she could comfort Thad, or to share in his pain.

But she couldn't; and he didn't want to talk about it, either, so she stopped bringing it up. She supposed that being truly happy, for the time being, was her burden to bear.

Early the next morning, she met Thad in the same place they'd met the days previously; Eragon, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, and they could only assume that he had already left on some matter of business or another.

_I didn't see him come in last night either,_ said Miles, _I wonder if he's up to something._

_Doubtful; we've only been here a few days, what could he possibly be doing?_ Answered Eværín as he jumped down from the landing of their tree house, joining her on the ground. She smiled and Thad and bade him good morning as he descended the winding stairs built into the enormous trees.

"You look better," She commented, "These past few days it seemed as if you hadn't slept at all,"

He shrugged, "I couldn't sleep. The forest is so… _alive,_ sometimes. Hasn't it ever keep you up; all the creaking sounds just outside your window? And all the _animals_…" he trailed off, his eyes distant.

She gave him a puzzled look, "No, it didn't."

"Well, it was better last night in any case. It just took some getting used to,"

"Whatever you say, super-hearing-man," She said.

"How _clever _you are." He said sarcastically, as they both turned and began to climb onto their respective dragon's backs, and prepared for the short flight back to the Crags of Tel'naeír.

"I try," She said, feeling Eværín's muscles contract in preparation to launch them into the air, shooting Thad one last smile before they took off. Velęs followed soon after, and the group flew through the air.

_Would it be offensive to race? _She asked Eværín.

_If you're afraid that implying you're a child is offensive, then yes._

_Don't be such a drone,_ she said, and raised her voice to yell to Thad and Velęs, "Beat you there!"

She could barely make out the outlines of the boy against the early morning sky, but she could tell that he was shaking his head in what she assumed to be disbelief. Her face cracked into a wide smile and she didn't wait for a response before saying excitedly to Eværín; _Go on! Let's beat them!_

_You are truly ridiculous, little one._ He told her, but sped up anyways. They strove ahead of the other two, but not by far befor Velęs sped up to catch them.

* * *

→ERAGON

Eragon blew the steady stream of steam drifting off the top of his mug of tea, studying the scroll before him. He sat in Oromis's old house, awaiting the arrival of his own students. Though, he could never bring himself to sit where the elf himself had sat, feeling it would be disrespectful to his memory.

It was a special kind of nostalgia to him when he had taken on his own students in much the same way as his old Master had him. He had, of course, had a hand in much of the teaching with the multiple students in New Vroengard, but that wasn't the same as this. He didn't know the students as personally as he would have liked, or as would have been ideal.

What he had wanted to do originally was set up a type of apprentice system, as Oromis had described during Eragon's very first stay in Ellesméra – back when he had first begun to study under Oromis's tutelage. Eragon had not expected the number of dragons to hatch that did, though of course he had been thrilled; but it raised the problem of how to teach them all, for a Rider without the proper instruction and wisdom, who gains too much power, as proved by Galbatorix, can be worse than fatal to the land. There was only one of him, so he came up with this new way of mass training to address the problem; it wasn't ideal, but what about his life had been? It would do, for now, because it had to.

He had thought that his plan would work for a time; train them all in masses the best he could, and then teach them what they needed to know as Riders as individually as possible; the wisest of all the races he could find helped him with the rest. The knowledge of history, mathematics, languages, and other things that he felt competent Riders should be at least in some knowledge of could be done without his help. In time, they would have been taught magic as well – they would have the Riders well trained and able to police Alagaësia as they hadn't in centuries before too long, or so he had hoped.

Unfortunately, he had apparently been mistaken. For whatever reason, and by whomever, the camp had been destroyed; the students, dragons, and training masters who consented to help him along with it. He quickly put down his tea before the despair of the event washed over him again, and caused him to drop it. Too much had already been lost, even one more scroll lost to spilled tea couldn't be spared, or so he felt. It seemed what was once lost was never so easily recovered, and he had to wonder if his efforts would ever be enough.

Now, he taught the remaining two students in the same manner that Oromis and Brom had taught him, but under different circumstances. Saphira taught Velęs and Eværín in the same way Glaedr taught her. This, at least, was a good way to teach the numerable delicate things that needed to be imparted into the two, and he only wished he could have afforded the same to the others. _I wonder, _he thought, _how many deaths I am now responsible for?_

There was one problem of the disaster of New Vroengard that he had yet to address, though it was a matter of pressing importance; he had to tell roughly twenty five proud parents that their children would not be coming home. He couldn't fly to see that many families, as he would have liked– they were situated all over Alagaësia, and he couldn't do that and educate Miles and Thaddeus at the same time, and he would not be kept as up to date on the investigations being conducted by Arya's elves.

Conversely, he didn't want to let them live in ignorance; each parent had been told upon relinquishing their child to the care of the Riders (Though, at the time that had only really been himself, Arya and Murtagh) that they would hold no earthly ties to any family so as to remain as impartial as possible, though once they'd completed their training and became Riders in full, they would be free to visit their families upon their duties in policing Alagaësia; it wouldn't be as if they would never see them again. He couldn't let himself live in such a lie.

He didn't want to simply send them some kind of cold, unforgiving letter, either, or use some similar impersonal mode of communication; it was very much his fault for not defending the camp as he ought to have, and it was his duty these people to tell them in as personal a way as he could manage that their children had perished at the hands of some unknown monster. He owed them that much.

_I don't know what to do,_ he said to Saphira, _next to none of those families were capable of magic; that rules out the use of scrying. I could ask Nasuada, but it's not her duty as it is mine._

_She is still your liegelord, is she not?_

_It was years ago, when the Varden were still an army in rebellion against the Empire, when I swore that oath, but yes._

_And she is your friend, besides – you could do worse than to ask. For all you know she might consent to inform the families, and then you can set your mind at rest on the subject and use the energy to address more pressing matters._

_I suppose._

He wished again that he had been able to save the mirror which he had connected with magic to a mirror of Nasuada's; it would have proved useful just then, but it would only have saved him the trouble of finding something reflective to scry Nasuada with. He knew she would probably be extremely busy, with a booked up schedule, and the last thing he would want to do is infringe on whatever time she'd been able to squirrel away for herself; but he felt obligated to those families to contact her all the same.

He could simply notify whomever he could and ask them to tell Nasuada that he needed to speak with her whenever was convenient, and then he could move on with his day knowing that he at least made some headway into the problem; whether or not that headway was futile remained to be seen.

So, reluctantly leaving his seat, he went outside into the fresh morning sunshine, breathing in the damp early morning air. He knelt down in the shade of a tree, and dug a small hole. He was sure that he could have found something to use in Oromis's house, but he had no desire to search it; this would do just fine.

Summoning the water to the surface of the dirt, Eragon whispered, "Dramr kópa," and patiently waited for the image of a room to appear on the reflective surface. He didn't have to wait long.

As he had suspected, the room in which the mirror was situated was empty save for a girl of no more than fourteen, presumably a servant or waiting woman of some kind, who seemed quite shocked at his appearance in the mirror, and was under the impression that she was hallucinating.

After a brief conversation with the girl, who identified herself as a waiting woman named Dasha, she told Eragon that Nasuada was, as he had expected, busy for the morning – but if he were to try again at midday, in roughly four hours for Ilirea, that Nasuada would most likely be available to speak with him. She also promised to tell her at the first opportunity of his contact.

He watched the small puddle as the image of the room faded, the girl's bright red hair being the last thing to disappear into the water. Standing, he returned to the house, and sat down in his former spot, telling Saphira; _It is done._

_Good._

He picked up his tea for a moment, and found that it had grown cold. He frowned, and briefly wondered if it was worth the energy to warm it back up when he heard the familiar sound of two thunderous pairs of wings in the distance. Leaving the house once more, he went out to greet his students.

The morning passed with an aching slowness, as time was wont to do when one was eager to get something done; he sent Miles into the woods for more practice on meditation, to the same clearing he himself had once practiced it. Meditation was something he knew she was familiar with, but was also something she had obviously neglected to master. Being someone of such an excitable and childish disposition, he felt it was something that could offer her a great benefit.

Thaddeus, on the other hand, spent the morning in various physical exercises; the Rimgar and other exercises that stretched the body to its limits in more subtle ways – the boy had a great skill with the blade, but not the flexibility to accompany it, and this was the problem he chose to address first.

When they both returned, he thought to give some instruction in magic – though, it bothered him to have the two students working on such different levels in at the same time in the same place; feeling that he could not supervise both as they needed to be.

Though it was revealed that he needn't get so anxious about it – Thaddeus often got so caught up in his smaller acts of magic that he rarely noticed what Miles was doing, and then it was often only to compliment her, not that her confidence needed boosting. He was glad as any teacher to see the two worked so well together.

Thus, the morning passed; and though it was far from unenjoyable or unpleasant, he wished it to pass ever faster all the same. He found himself checking for the position of the sun in the sky more often than he knew he should, and every time he did he would be surprised to see that it had often barely traversed any significant spans at all – no longer than fifteen minutes at any given time.

At last, it was midday, and he left his students to their meal, and to recover from the morning's exercises and converse among themselves, and ventured alone a small distance back amongst the trees to scry Nasuada once more. This time, the woman he sought was in the room, looking over a large sheaf of papers at the ornately carved desk. The same waiting woman, Dasha, was there, reading the same scroll and casting furtive looks at where the mirror must hang. She let out a soundless exclamation before composing herself when his image appeared, and then alerted Nasuada; she was, presumably, was too busy to notice herself.

He also noted with some apprehension that Elva lurked in a dark corner; the silvery mark given to her so long ago by Saphira in the depths of Farthen Dûr shining through shadows and curtains of long, dark hair alike. He was pleased to see that she looked healthy as ever, even if her mouth seemed permanently twisted downwards in a distasteful frown. She looked to be about sixteen, now; her aging had slowed to the point where she once more looked her actual age – it was around the age of Roran and Katrina's daughter Ismira, and indeed around the age of Horst's and Jeod's children.

_So many children; I wonder if such a surge in population always occurs after a war. _He remarked with amusement to Saphira.

_I would say yes, though I feel I should remind you that most of the children you think of were born during the Fall of the Empire, not after it._

_Indeed… the thought amuses me no less._ He then thought to possibly contact Roran, and to discuss with him of all that had transpired; in truth, it would have just been nice to have contact with his cousin after so long. They kept touch periodically, but Eragon was rather disheartened at each of the encounters to realize just how much of life in Alagaësia he was missing, and how much the land where he was born and raised had changed – even if it was for the better.

"Queen Nasuada," He said, inclining his head respectfully when she put the papers down and looked at the mirror.

"Eragon," She said, inclining her head in the same manner. The small frown that dragged at the corners of her mouth told him that Murtagh had informed her of the situation; he felt guilty for leaving her out of the communication until just then. He had hoped that hearing the news from Murtagh would soften it somewhat – apparently, he was mistaken once again.

"I take it Murtagh has arrived in Ilirea? It was where he told me he was next headed before joining me in Ellesméra,"

"Indeed he has. He and I have spoken at length," Eragon suppressed a smile and a laugh. _Spoken at Length._

_I'd wager they've shared more than words, _he said to Saphira.

_Hush_ he chided her, but sharing in her amusment.

"Then you know of the… Situation?" He said, hoping she would have some idea on why he had contacted her, and maybe even have already notified the families encompassed by his concern.

"Yes, I am aware of the goings on in the East." She said, and he heaved an inner sigh. He knew it had been a long shot, but he had still been hopeful. "Has Arya gathered any more information on the problem I should be aware of?"

"She has begun the efforts, but she continues to tell me as I continue to ask; this will take a bit of time, as it is a large amount of both land and knowledge to traverse. A few weeks she has promised me; a small span compared to what we hope to learn, but it is a span nonetheless."

Nasuada sighed, rubbing her temples with one long fingered hand, looking older than Eragon ever remembered.

"I don't like the sound of this situation, Eragon,"

"Nor do I,"

"It reeks too much of the old tales; after what Alagaësia has had to recover from in Galbatorix's reign, I didn't think the world would deal it another blow of the like. It seems that I may yet be wrong – but I hope this is not the case."

"We all hope," He assured her, "But, as I am sure you suspect, my call is not without other reasons – I would have trusted Murtagh to alert you to the situation, and as I have already told you, there are no new developments to report. Of course, I wished to discuss this with you, but there was another matter which drove my contact. I wished to inform the families of the Riders who had been slain in the east, along with the dwarves and urgals, if you can manage it. The elves, of course, already have knowledge of what has happened."

Nasuada suddenly looked drawn, "I do not believe it wise to inform so many families in so many different locations of their children's deaths, though I wish them to know of the fate their own flesh and blood has met – my wishes matter for naught, while they are my own and do not stand for my people's. Should the information get out – there would be chaos in the streets! Alagaësia is just now beginning to truly proper in its freedom from the Empire; do you wish to undermine everything I have worked for, and indeed, everything my ministry has worked for in these past years? And they are numerable, Eragon, in case you had forgotten."

He sighed, "I know you have worked hard Nasuada, and you should believe me when I say that undermining the progress you've made is the last thing I want – but it still goes against my nature to deceive so many innocent people, especially when our intensions are as yet unclear. We don't know of this threat, so why should they fear it?"

"There are many people in Alagaësia, Eragon, more than a few are bound to be without common sense. I cannot, in good conscience, inform nigh on twenty five families of varying sizes of this disaster; it is sure to leak out and be distorted."

"What if we just informed them of the death of their children in some other way – we could make up a false circumstance of some kind, perhaps? A training accident?"

"Do you wish for no parents to want their children to join the Riders? How many will let their children go if a Dragon hatches for them, when all the known ones have mysteriously perished in numerable 'training accidents'?"

"I know, I know," He said, doing his best to keep his frustration in check. "But perhaps before that happens we can undermine whatever it is that caused this, or make allies of it, and then the truth can be revealed to everyone. Many of the families might already be suspicious; they kept in touch with their children, albeit in a roundabout manner and the contact was infrequent, but they might have noticed by now. This is not something we can ignore, Nasuada."

She was silent for a moment, before reluctantly consenting, "Very well; it shall be done." She said, "And Eragon? Might I suggest something?"

"Of course," Her expression softened.

"Do not dwell on what happened in the east. It is done, and you cannot change it – all of Alagaësia is lucky you survived. It was not your fault," her tone softened.

He felt his mouth turn sour, and he fought back assertions that it was, in fact, very much his fault that the camp now lay in smoke and ruins before it could even reach its full potential. Well, perhaps not his fault, exactly – but he could have very well saved it, had he been there.

"Eragon, do not blame yourself. It will be your undoing. Allow us to – "

"No." He said, his tone firm but not unkind. "The elimination of New Vroengard is my burden to bear, Nasuada. And I, alone, shall bear it." Of this, he was adamant.

_Not alone, little one, never alone._ Said Saphira, gently.

He felt a smile reluctantly tug at his lips once more. _Its been years since you called me that._

* * *

→MURTAGH

The moon was high in the sky, and its light pierced through the windows of Nasuada's room in silvery rays; they swirled through the air, and dimly illuminated the lavish room.

Murtagh sat, with his head in his hands and watched Nasuada as she slept, her eyelashes fanning out on her dark skin, and her arms stretched out to the place where he slept only moments before. He could only bring himself to look at her for a few moments before he had to look away; he felt too ashamed of himself.

It was years ago that Galbatorix had been overthrown, and he had left for the north. He didn't know when he would be able to allow himself to come back, or if he ever would. He didn't think he would be the same person if he did, and he was unsure of how he would feel about Nasuada upon his return; he didn't even know if she would still be alive when he did.

But, somehow, he had returned only a small matter of years later, and he had returned almost entirely the same, his feelings for her so obviously unchanged. Not a day had gone by when he didn't think of her with each passing hour, wondering what she might be doing, and if she thought of him, too.

He knew he shouldn't have come to Ilirea, but he couldn't help himself. He felt so inexplicably drawn here – drawn to her. Nasuada was human, and while he was a Rider, and could endure for centuries, she was doomed to live a mortal life; yet the love he felt for her could burn on for longer than time itself. Unfortunately his love alone could not keep Nasuada alive, as much as he desperately wanted it to.

He felt it was wrong to indulge in such a love with someone whose existence was so fragile and short in comparison to his own. When she did age and when she did die, as all beings must – but humans more quickly than almost every other species in Alagaësia – it would only make everything more complicated and painful for everyone. Couldn't he just leave well enough alone?

She knew it too, he felt. She didn't have to say it, neither of them did, but the unspoken communication between the two of them told him as much. It didn't stop them from falling into one another's arms as soon as he arrived in Ilirea – as soon as courtesy would allow them to be alone, that is.

He didn't want to take her away from what she needed to do as Queen, or so he told himself as he strode into her apartments, accompanied by her guards earlier that afternoon. All thoughts of simply greeting Nasuada as was expected of him, and no more, flew from his mind when he walked into her room – she was reading from a long parchment list, looking more brilliant than the sun itself. He managed to keep his wits about himself to greet her as he must, but he was relieved when she dismissed everyone else in the room for him to deliver the news of New Vroengard, as Eragon had requested.

He hadn't even noticed anyone else was in the room to _be_ dismissed, if he was being truthful; he might have spat out the entire story, as confidential as it was, to the entirety of the room had she not spoken up. He wondered if he would ever stop being grateful to her in the things she did – he doubted it.

After he spoke, there was a moment of tense silence between them. Her eyes flickered up to look at him once more, and he felt all the anxiety melt out of his body at her gaze. Everything just sort of fell into place form there; he didn't think their peace would be able to last for the duration of his stay, and so he savored it.

He stood, his joints sore from the long ride into civilized territory, and walked over to the window. It was mostly obscured by a curtain to save Nasuada from prying eyes, and he also knew it to be enchanted from unwelcome spies from his own experience, and so he didn't think twice about the implications of being seen in the state he was in, and causing some sort of scandal. The last thing Nasuada needed was another thing to worry about.

He gently leaned against the window frame, looking out over the elaborate gardens that Nasuada's apartments overlooked, and watched the moonlight filter through the trees to make elaborate patterns of light on the garden paths.

For so long he had existed in solitude, save Thorn, and the world that he descended into felt completely changed from the last time he had beheld it. Where the bustling streets of Uru'baen had been muted and gray, rife with crime and pollution, the people often bent as they went about their business; the streets of Ilirea were bright and filled with laughter and the clank of coins as they hit wooden counter-tops. Nasuada had done her job well, but it had taken a toll on her.

She worked too hard, sometimes, and he wanted nothing more than to stay and help her where he could – he feared she would soon work herself into an early grave without anyone brash enough to tell her to relax. She was the Queen of the Land, and he knew her job was demanding, but no job was so demanding as to suffocate and overpower its holder.

But he couldn't stay, as badly as he wanted to– he had sworn to Eragon that he would go to Du Weldenvarden, and assist him however possible. It was his duty as a Rider, and none had more to redeem themselves from than he; regardless of the fact that he had been given no choice in his actions during the Fall of the Empire. Even if he hadn't been enslaved by Galbatorix, he would still have an obligation to help.

He heard a rustling behind him as Nasuada awoke, but he did not turn around. He stood as still as he had been, staring out across the darkened landscape until he felt her stand beside him, placing a cool hand on his arm gently.

He stirred, and wound an arm around her waist, craving her closeness – who knows when he would have to leave, and if he would be able to return? She leaned into them, and they looked out the window in silence for a moment before either of them spoke.

"Bad dreams?" She asked softly, so as not to spoil the peace and silence of the night.

"Something of the kind," He said. A silence once again enveloped them, draping itself around their bodies with a cool embrace. Then, "You know I have to leave soon,"

"Not today," She said, her arms tightening around him.

"No, not today. But soon," He didn't say how long "soon" was. He didn't want to know himself.

She turned, leaning her chin on his shoulder and looking up at him with iridescent eyes that were more brilliant than all the stars put together, and what could he do but lean down and kiss her softly?

* * *

A.N – So I really suck for taking so long on this chapter, and it isn't even especially good/long to show for it. My apologies – I'll try to be better about getting chapters up more often!


	7. In Preparation

"_Seek to free a foolish spirit were disasters become connected,"_ she said, _"For only there can solace be found and true aid given. Then proceed to the place where it all began, and there you will find the things which you seek."_

Again and again, those enigmatic words rang through Miles's unconscious mind. She could hardly close her eyes without the same old images burning across her imagination, searing the message into her mind. She couldn't forget the words, or deny they held some kind of importance – though she couldn't for the life of her manage what.

She began to focus more and more of her energies on pondering the words of the werecat; if she'd any doubts that it had, indeed, been a werecat, those had been lain to rest when she'd seen the girl in both her forms. She took whatever form caught her fancy, but she always sat under the same tree – Miles's tree – and spoke the same words, never straying from the script so much as a letter.

As if the endless repetition would make the actual content of the message any more intelligible.

Many times she would pick out small parts of them and ponder each syllable for uncounted minutes; in the brief rest between training, in the rides to and from the Crags of Tel'naeír during both the cool, gray dawn and inflamed sunset. To her dismay, the more she pondered the words, the less and less they made sense.

It would have been better for her peace of mind and training had she been able to simply dismiss it as an odd, albeit strangely reoccurring, dream; nothing more, nothing less. But she couldn't – it wasn't because Eragon had told her she would do well to heed the words of a werecat, though that had certainly helped, it was the simple ring of truth the words carried as they reverberated through the air, piercing her consciousness and making her shiver.

She didn't tell anyone. She couldn't tell anyone.

_A foolish spirit?_ She asked Eværín for the umpteenth time that night, sitting cross-legged in the clothes she reserved for sleeping, her back to the closed canopy which sheltered her from the storm raging outside_. __Does that mean some kind of Shade, perhaps? Maybe it's foolish, and its gone and turned it's hosts' hair and eyes blue instead of red, and the other Shades are embarrassed._

_Go to __sleep__, _said Eværín, who was still curled up in his bed; his purple scales glittering in the muted light, his tone borderingon exasperation_. __The sun will rise before you get to the bottom of this riddle, even if you stay up all night; you might as well rest, you will need your rest and energy to face whatever the day may bring._

_Yes, but…__ she sighed, her head in her hands. She didn't want to go to sleep just yet, though she knew it had to be some hours past midnight. She didn't want to spend the rest of the night tossing about on her bed, the image of some godforsaken werecat chanting maddening conundrums at her, staring at her with gleaming eyes, almost teasing her. __In a bit,_ she hedged._ You should probably get some sleep, though._ She added as an afterthought/

She felt sympathy seep through their mental link, and looked up to where Eværín was curled up. He had opened one large eye to look at her, and she gave him a small smile.

_I'm fine._ She assured him. _Now go to sleep. _She stood, wincing as her joints cracked after sitting so long before then took the short walk to her small library. She sank down into the chair that she'd once again neglected to push back into place upon leaving it earlier that evening, sinking into its back, and observing the mess that painted the surface of the desk before her with a wary eye. _Remind me to clean this up,_ she thought to Eværín - though, it seemed he had already gone to sleep. _Good, he needs his rest._ Instead, then, she plucked one scroll out of the jumbled mass at random, and opened it; she scanned its contents, humming quietly to herself. She always remembered her mother telling her that music was the best tool to keep back the cold.

In hindsight, she would rather have fire in a pinch, but the sentiment was nice.

The gale had yet to abate when Miles had finally gone to bed, some hours and at least half a dozen scrolls later; she made herself go to bed after her eyelids began to droop unbearably. She was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, too tired to even dream; the gray which followed the night but proceeded the dawn had enveloped the room, and she fell asleep listlessly under its weight.

It felt as if she had scarcely allowed her eyes to fall fully, and blissfully, shut when someone stormed through her door. Though it had felt like only a matter of seconds, she knew it must have been at least a few hours; the daylight had come to replace the dreary dawn, and the new light had somehow filtered into her tree house. Yet, it had failed to wake Miles as it normally would have._  
_

"Miles! We're going to be late, come on," Said Thad, not bothering to knock before opening the door.

_At least I'm a girl, and I don't sleep naked,_ she thought blearily to Eværín, earning a chuckle from the dragon, but still laying on her bed unmoving and extremely warm. She was awake, but her eyelids remained closed. She couldn't even spare the energy at the moment to wonder why Eværín hadn't woken her.

She simply slumped back into sleep's blissful back embrace, ignoring her friend, and drifted into the land of her subconscious mind, which held nothing but peace for the first time in weeks.

She was jolted awake what felt like years later, and Thad was shaking her shoulder. "Miles, you need to wake up. Right _now_ would be nice. Eragon is waiting – we're not training today, and you're in luck, else we'd both be in for it. Now, come on, get up lazy-head!"

She groaned, blinking her eyes open and giving him a blisteringly unforgiving look – one she was quite proud of, all things considering, she felt as if her limbs were tied to the bed and laden with stones. She was curled up in a small ball, the blanket that had adorned the bed so neatly just the other day sprawled around her, half on the floor. She was so, incredibly comfortable and warm, she didn't think she'd ever have the will power to get up.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Thad decided to fix that problem for her.

Seeing that she was now, in fact, awake, Thad grabbed her hands and pulled her gently off the bed and to her feet, until she still stood fully on her own, quivering like a wavering tree before a summer storm. He dropped her arms unceremoniously, and she reluctantly walked over to where a tray filled with water and fresh fruit had been left for her.

"Well, that was a harsh choice of words," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. She ignored the food, and instead took a long draft of crisp, cool water.

"What time did you go to bed?" He asked, "Not that you've ever been particularly punctual, but I don't think you've ever overslept… or at least, not while we've been here."

"Someone's grumpy today," She bypassed his question; she didn't want to talk to anyone about what had kept her up so late, especially Thad.

"Just hurry up," He said, and walked out the door again. She sighed, sitting back down on the bed.

_What are the chances of me getting away with it if I lay back down and go to sleep?_

_Absolutely none. You would be training as usual if there were not more important things to do, so there must be something that requires some proper attention from the lot of us._ Eværín responded, and released the canvas from its binds across her window with an elegant flick of his barbed tongue. A fearsome ray of sunshine flooded into the room, which was magnified tenfold when Eværín launched himself into the air; the light rebounded off his mirror-like scales and blinded her._ Now get dressed. _He said before disappearing from sight, leaving her to wince at the sudden flush of light and prepare herself for the day.

She winced at the sudden intensity of light in her eyes, before turning to go to the washroom to reluctantly prepare for the day.

She'd never been one to dwell much on her looks, at least not in day-to-day activities, so she didn't look too terribly shabby by comparison to how she normally dressed – only a bit more haggard than usual. Being low-maintenance had its perks, it seemed; she was descending the stairs into the freshly washed forest after no more than ten minutes.

She coughed out some excuse for being so late to the – whatever this was – and the six of them began the long trek towards Tialdarí Hall, Eragon in the lead. While they walked, Eragon spoke for a while; he told them of the goings on of the elves, under the direction of Queen Arya, to investigate where he could not, and who could do so with a precision only an elf could muster. Presumably, this 'investigation' had yielded significant results, though their stay in Ellesméra had only been for some weeks – such was the effectiveness of the elves.

After Eragon had finished speaking, the group sputtered into a kind of silence; though no one spoke, the forest around them echoed with exaggerated sounds and alighted upon their eyes in a wide array of bright colors, in the kind of vibrant shades that could only be result from a storm. Luckily, no trees had been blown over, or none that Miles could see.

She had hoped that their walk would prove similar to the other one the group had taken upon their first morning in Ellesméra, and run into Angela once more – she could have asked that woman one million and one questions and still be burning with curiosity. However, she was unlucky, and she was actually rather disappointed to set her gaze upon the magnificent residence of the Elvish Queen, though she would have been positively delighted at any almost other time.

She had only been to Tialdarí Hall a few times in all of her time at Ellesméra, which was a considerable chunk for a human – though, she _was_ a Rider, now – but, like the rest of the city, the Hall was breathtakingly beautiful. It melded just as seamlessly with its surroundings, yet, it still managed to stand apart from the rest of the buildings in Ellesméra, and held an air of quiet command – fitting for a ruler such as Queen Arya. And that was all just the actual Hall itself – the gardens were widely acknowledged as one of the best sights in Ellesméra. They were indescribably beautiful, holding a flower every shade of the rainbow, and a few besides.

But, they didn't get a chance to see much of the gardens at all; it was all business for their little group. They didn't actually go into the hall itself, actually. While it would have been just large enough to accommodate Eværín and Velęs, it was not large enough to permit one of Saphira's immense size. So, they ended up in a small courtyard some distance from the entrance to Tialdarí Hall which had apparently been prepared for just this purpose.

When they arrived in the small copse, Miles immediately noticed a large mirror that clung to what looked to be some sort of tent pole; the swirling image, no doubt enabled by a scrying spell, held a single elf in its forefront, though others were apparent in the background.

The elf had silvery hair, and was speaking with great respect to a woman with slanted eyes of emerald, pointed ears and hair black as night that grew unchecked down her back; it was kept from her elegant face with a small, delicate crown of gold that stood out from her hair like a flash of lightening.

Arya waited patiently for the elf to finish speaking before politely excusing herself and turning to the group; Eragon, standing at the forefront of it, bowed to the Queen, his arm twisted over his chest in an elvish sign of respect. Miles followed in suit, and Thad as well – after Miles elbowed him, that is. They then proceeded through each of the elvish greeting customs, which was annoying but necessary, before all crowding around the mirror.

The elf in the mirror introduced himself as Alansiëa before beginning to speak again, though Miles couldn't remember much of what he said, after she heard the word "Giants,"

_Giants?_

* * *

↬_**E**__**RAGON**_

While what had attacked the camp remained as unclear as ever, Eragon knew that it would prove unwise to remain in Ellesméra for much longer when whatever it was as most likely going towards the Boer Mountains – the dwarves were more likely to need help than anyone else at the moment, and so that is where he must go. Was it not his duty as a Rider to help those who needed it?

And _someone_ had to face it down – who better to be that 'someone' than him? However, now he had to decide upon whether it would be wise for his students to accompany him.

While he'd no doubt that Thad could handle himself in battle with a sword, and Miles with magic, he was unsure if whatever they would be facing in the Beors would be like a battle against any kind of foe they'd been trained to fight against – he couldn't risk their lives in such an unsure battle when they already had so little experience. He would have to see if Arya could keep Miles and Thaddeus in their same quarters; he would see to it they'd something to do to keep up with their training in his absence.

Though, of course he would wait for Murtagh to arrive in Ellesméra, before setting out to do what he could. If anyone would want to fight the monsters alongside him, he knew it would be Murtagh.

_I am not sure if the hatchlings will appreciate your concerns,_ said Saphira.

_I know,_ Eragon sighed, _But what else can I do? They've only had so much training…_

_More than you had._

_Yes, but that's different. What I lacked in instruction I quickly gained in experience,_

_They shall never gain any experience if you insist on keeping them from combat._

_This isn't just _combat_ Saphira! I've only the vaguest idea of what these creatures are, and absolutely no idea of their weaknesses. '_Giants'_ is just a guess, these things could just as easily be something else that has never been in the recorded history of Alagaësia - something that's been sleeping in the east since the creation of the land itself, biding its time to reclaim it's territory. I have to fight it as best I can, but while Miles and Thad are so young, I cannot let them accompany me. This is no mere raid._

_I know, little one. But if what you say is true, it would be the height of folly to fly into such a fight with only myself to help you; you know I will follow you to the ends of the earth and fight to the death alongside you, but this is foolishness. Allow the elves to come with you, and your students and Murtagh as well. The more sheer numbers you have to combat sheer size, the better the odds of survival for everyone._

Eragon thought for a long moment, before reluctantly agreeing. Nodding tiredly to himself, thinking with wariness at what needed to be done, he pushed himself up from his chair; a scroll containing several large mythical beasts, whose descriptions had long since been lost to common tongues, was left laying across his desk as he made to leave the tree house which had been his home for the past weeks.

_Well, if they're going to fight, they'll need something to fight with._

It was a short walk this time to reach Rhunön's forge, though he'd only traversed the path a few times before. A sense of urgency quickened his steps, so that he soon found himself face to face with the elf as he had only weeks before, when he'd first come to Ellesméra.

Like always, the elf did not look up from her work as he entered. She was working on some tool or another, but he didn't look to admire her work as he normally would have; he needed to know that she would consent to make swords for at least Thad in the same manner she had his – not, necessarily, through one of their minds, but in a short span of time; as long as it took for Murtagh to meet them. No more than a few days.

"Rhunön-elda," he said, respectfully, but didn't bother with any other pleasantries; he felt he had not time for them, and knew they would fall upon ears that did not wish to hear them anyways. "I've come to release you from your oath," He said.

He had hesitated before, but the need was urgent, or so he felt; he had the capability to release someone from an oath in the Ancient Language, using its name, but it was not something he wanted to bandy about with anyone, if he could help it.

"That is, if you wish me to," he amended. At this, the elf stood from her work, despite the fact that the metal was still cheery-red with heat.

"And what oath might this be, Shadeslayer?" She asked, her voice raspy, "I remember swearing no oath to you."

"No, not to me," He said, "in the Ancient Language. If you will consent to make my students swords, I will release you from your oath; you will be able to make such weapons once more, unbound by your words all those years ago."

Rhunön didn't speak for a moment, examining Eragon's face for any signs of deceit – he kept his expression bland; he would have thought himself ridiculous in her position as well, but he'd nothing to hide.

"How so?" She asked after a moment, her words long and drawn-out.

"I think you know the answer to that," He said, unwilling to actually say it out loud.

For a moment, Rhunön seemed to struggle with the implications of what he might be saying.

"Are you willing?" He asked after again. She nodded tersely, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Alright then; have done with it."

A little over an hour later, Eragon was walking back to the tree house. It had not taken too long to free Rhunön from her promise in the Ancient Language – he knew that he could do it, but until he had actually gone to release Rhunön from her actual promise, he had not considered how the actual _act_ might be done. He knew the Name of the Ancient Language, but he knew not how to apply it to her oaths to so as to break them and thus allow her to once again make swords for the Riders.

He ended up, then, having to try multiple different approaches; first, he simply spoke the word, and had Rhunön begin to make a sword; when her oaths would not allow her, he simply thought of a new way to apply it. He was wary, though, for the elf seemed to grow more impatient by the minute.

Luckily, he stumbled upon the correct way to break the oath only two tries later; after speaking them to her, and then to the tools and brightsteel, he had her speak her oaths out loud and then spoke the Name of the Ancient Language, and she was able to complete the first step in the creation of a new sword. It was in this way that he had intended to leave her to her work, getting as far as the edge of the clearing that housed her forge, when she called him back.

"Shadeslayer!" she called, "I trust you remember the first step in the creation of your sword?" When he gave her a blank look, she huffed once again with impatience, "I cannot make a sword if I do not know the fighting style of whom I am making it for. Your students, Shadeslayer, you must bring them here!"

So, he nodded and turned to leave once more without another word.

He was anxious about how Rhunön would perceive Miles and Thad, for only Thad was _really_ competent with a sword, and Rhunön was hardly one to soften her words. Nonetheless, if she would consent to make the swords they would be useful, and he would be remiss not to try.

And so, Eragon set out to collect his students for the second time that day. He had hoped they'd have chosen to spend their unoccupied time at the tree houses, but he knew that no one would _really_ chose to stay in their rooms when there was a city as incredible as Ellesméra to see. He checked back to where the tree houses were located, anyways, just to be sure.

_Where do you think they might be?_ He asked Saphira, when he arrived at the small clearing in between the tree houses.

_Your guess is as good as mine,_ she said, flying down from the largest tree house, her blue scales throwing off the noonday sun.

_Well I can't look for them with my mind – who knows how many elves I would encounter in the process._

_No, I don't think that would be wise._

_So I guess I'll just have to walk?_

_I should think not._ She huffed, flying down to the clearing as he entered it, positioning herself to allow him to climb onto her back.

He smiled, _Of course._

With the aid of Saphira, it was only a short ride over Ellesméra to locate the two _–_ or rather, shorter than it would have been to walk. It was still about half an hour before they located the two; it was, in his opinion, about twenty-five minutes too many.

* * *

↬_**M**__**ILES**_

Though she knew it would serve her better to take a nap and make up for the hours of sleep she had lost the previous night, Miles found herself rapping on the door to Thad's tree house after had Eragon released them for the day, off to do gods know what – not that she was complaining.

She'd wanted to look around Ellesméra once more since returning from the East, but had not really had the chance; though she could technically use the time after they returned to their respective quarters in the evenings however she chose, she couldn't go out for the substantial amount of time required to accomplish the trip to her liking, and then still have time enough to read all the scrolls that Eragon had given her. She didn't really much care_– _she really doubted that Ellesméra had changed at all in her absence, for the elves were so long lived, that the few years had probably passed unnoticed by many of them.

However, now that the opportunity had presented herself, there was no way she was going to pass it up, and no way she was _not_ going to drag Thad along with her. Whether or not he wanted to, though she suspected he would have wondered about the city on his own anyways, he was going to accompany her for her trip down memory lane.

So, she got a little impatient when he didn't at first answer her knocks. She was a bit worried he had gone off on his own, and the last thing she wanted to do was go track him down to walk with her – she wasn't some kind of nannying goose. Though she didn't much like the idea of walking alone now that she'd set her heart on showing Thad the elvish city.

She knocked once more, hoping that he had somehow missed the first one, but that, too, went unanswered. So, of course, she did what any sane person would do in the same situation.

And, if you guessed turning away and walking on her own was the answer, then you would be wrong; she barged right through the door.

_What? It was unlocked, anyways. He was practically asking for someone to break in,_ she said to Eværín, sensing his reproach.

_Its your decision, little one._ He said simply.

"Tha-ad!" She called in a sing-song voice through the small apartments, which were reminiscent of her own. However, there were a number of small differences; in the midst of the small foyer where one initially entered the tree house, there was a small collection of werelights, each no bigger than her thumb, which cascaded down the sides of an elegant tendril of carved wood at different lengths; there were dozens, like small fireflies tethered to the ceiling. They fluttered around in the gentle breeze that blew through the opened bedroom window.

Other than that, he had the same small study area with a number of scrolls – some dusty ones, having sat there for ages, alongside the ones Thad had been reading, given to him by Eragon; he had organized his, Miles remarked to herself, whereas hers lay sprawled about, muddled and chaotic. He had the same washroom, and a similar bedroom, though all placed in the reverse order of her own.

To her surprise, the boy whom she sought walked out of the washroom after hearing his name for the third time, his hair dripping wet and very much shirtless; as if he had decided to, for some reason completely beyond her, practice some sort of fighting – presumably sparring – and had then washed up. In fact, she was positive this was what had happened. She raised her eyebrows. _Overachiever,_ she thought with an internal eye roll.

"Do you just walk around your quarters shirtless, then?" She asked, taking the few steps into his bedroom and grabbing the clean shirt which lay somewhat crumpled on the bed, as if it had been thrown there some time ago. She tossed it at him, "Come on then; are you coming with me?" _As if I would take no for an answer, _she remarked to Eværín, amused.

"And where are we going?" He asked, grabbing the shirt with an agility she would never be able to duplicate, and walking back into the washroom to himself off.

"Oh, here and there," She said vaguely, gesturing around widely, "Places."

"Right, because that's not at all vague and completely trustworthy," He said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Great! Glad to hear you're coming." She said brightly.

She greeted Velęs, who was laying in the shallow impression of the bedroom floor made especially for dragons, before leaving the bedroom and wandering into the study. She dusted her fingers over the scrolls, looking at each of them carefully; identifying and addressing each of their contents in her mind before moving along to the next.

He had received the same amount of widely varied topics she had to read on, though they were different from her own. _Eragon must think we'll always be working together, _she realized,_ what better way to teach us a wide variety of topics – at least one of us would know something on almost anyything we might encounter in Alagaësia, if we carried on like this for much longer._ She smiled to herself, _that's brilliant!_

_Brilliant indeed, _remarked Eværín.

She didn't notice when Thad emerged from the washroom about five minutes later, smelling of sweet soap in freshly laundered linens. She was sitting in his chair, curled up in it as only she could manage, a scroll of old dwarvish tales sprawled open on her lap.

"You were saying something about going somewhere?" He prompted, leaning on the doorframe of the study and folding his arms.

She gave him a wane smile, holding a finger to her lips for a moment, and returning to the story – she wanted to show him Ellesméra, but not before she finished reading the last few lines from the tale of the Siege of Orthiad.

"Yes!" She said, popping up from the chair after reading the last word, attempting to roll the scroll back as neatly as Thad had and placing it on the shelf. He rolled his eyes.

"Here; let me." She stepped back as he fixed it, before leading him wordlessly outside. They headed down the staircase from his door, and into the clearing amidst the numerable tree houses that had once housed Ellesméra's resident Dragon Riders.

"We're going to see Ellesméra," She informed him, "I shall be your guide,"

He snorted, "Yes, I assumed as much."

"Don't be pert," She said, elbowing him. He put his hands up in mock surrender.

Though she hadn't been in Ellesméra long enough to know the way into the parts of the city she wanted to show Thad, it wasn't too hard to figure out – at least, not if you knew what to look for. The ability to pick out elvish buildings sung from the trees out of the actual landscape, for one, and spotting the neat trails was another. As they were something she had spent several years looking at, she was pretty good at recognizing both, but she doubted anyone but an elf could manage it one hundred percent of the time.

The trails made by the elves were always something that puzzled her; somehow, they weren't quite the same as trails made by humans; she didn't know how, but while they were certainly trodden upon, no matter how well used she knew they must be, they still grew grass and were very much a part of the surroundings. _ Must be magic,_ she thought.

They didn't go into Tialdarí Hall, where they'd been just that afternoon; she might have seen if it were possible for them to look at the gardens, had Thad expressed an interest, but he dismissed the offer.

"Show me what you think I ought to see," He said, "I don't anticipate this being the only time we'll walk the city; there will be other times to look at other things. Go on, then."

So, she took him around the places she liked the most where she'd spent large parts of her youth in Ellesméra. She took him to the Menoa tree, though that didn't captivate him for as long as it had her upon her first visit to the tree.

After that, she only briefly took him to a clearing located a somewhat small distance away where she'd first learned to meditate, and had spent most of her reading time. That didn't interest him much past politeness, but she hadn't expected it too – that was more of a stop for herself, a silent tribute to all the time she'd spent there.

They walked around for a bit, talking quietly so as not to disturb the elves, or, indeed, for them not to overhear their conversation; with their hearing, who knew what the various elves they encountered could make out of their words? They talked of nothing particularly secretive, but it was never wise to shout ones words from the rooftops, especially in a city populated by Elves and the occasional werecat, and mysterious herbalists to boot.

She walked him past a number of buildings, and pointed them out as discreetly as possible, which she had always marked as fascinating while growing up; but she'd never had the audacity to ask for entrance. There was one home, sung out of a tree like most the rest, which was half underground – the door was sun into the roots of a large tree, but several rooms rose out of the dirt behind it and appeared to be housed in a type of glass or crystalline dome; inside were a number of stargazing instruments, and she had occasionally seen an elf with dark hair and glittering skin using them late at night when she passed by.

Another interesting house was one nearer to where she'd been raised by her caretaker, Lútheiņ. It rose six slim, but powerful, stories into the sky; how it still managed to be so nondescript was completely beyond Miles, and yet it was. You might miss it if you didn't look too carefully, It was beautiful, with the webbing like veins that ran through each story, with windows of glass placed in random corners and moss growing on it. She knew not who it housed, nor what their logic was behind building such a tall house, but she thought it was absolutely breathtaking. Whimsical, as her sister might have said.

At last, they reached the home where she'd been raised during her time in Ellesméra – really, where she'd been raised, period. When she'd been brought to Ellesméra, she was no more than a rag muffin with a talent for finding herself in trouble and poorly attempted to pick pockets. How she'd even managed to survive as long as she did on the streets was something that Miles would never understand, but, again, she wasn't about to complain.

The elf who had raised her, Lútheiņ, had been her first teacher; someone who had answered all her questions with a patience and kindness that was unprecedented in Miles's life. She supposed it might not have been if she could remember more of her mother, but as she couldn't, it was. She hadn't seen her in a few years, since she'd been deemed old enough to train with the rest of the New Riders, but she suddenly felt anxious about meeting her again.

But, she was already in sight of the house; a small one story home, humble and secluded in a small copse of trees that was cut through on one side by a small creek. It had a number of large windows, which was something that endeared Miles to the place when she was young; whatever home she ended up living in, if ever she did, she had decided it would have the same amount of window space as the small home where she'd spent most of her childhood.

"_Windows feed the soul,"_ as Lútheiņ had always told her.

The elf herself sat on the same tree stump situated perfectly in the clearing to catch the right amount of sunlight to warm and light, but not to be too hot. Like the other elves, Lútheiņ had dedicated herself to a certain craft or task for however long it took her to master; though hers, Miles doubted, would ever be a task that would end. She was dedicated to the task of learning and teaching, and the pursuit of knowledge – this had made her the ideal person to raise Miles, and teach her some of the basic things she would need to know as a Rider.

As Elves also considered it a great honor to raise children, Lútheiņ had accepted her into her home without qualm.

Miles felt a wave of nostalgia unlike any she'd felt that day when she walked into the clearing with Thad – Lútheiņ sat on the same stump, reading a scroll and sipping tea as she had the first day Miles had ever seen her; her hair, like starlight, shone in the sunlight. Her kind eyes scanned the page in front of her with a delicacy that spoke of unnumbered years expertise.

She almost stopped in her tracks, but she wanted desperately to greet her old mentor.

"Lútheiņ-elda," She said, her voice wavering ever so slightly, bowing and twisting her hand over her chest in the elvish sign of respect. Thad did the same, and Lútheiņ looked up at the two.

Miles knew she had to have known or suspected that they were coming – or heard them coming, at the very least – for she had always discouraged training all of one's focus truly on one topic.

_"You may be reading," _as Lútheiņ told her on innumerable occasions,_ "but your senses must be ever aware of your surroundings. What is the point in gainng knowledge if you numb yourself to the real world in the process?"_

The elf rose gracefully, returning the greetings. After they'd each repeated back the customary greeting of the elves, through which Miles held her breath – she wanted to speak to Lútheiņ, but after so many years, she didn't know how to begin. So many words rushed to her mouth, each begging to be spoken first, she feared they would tumble out of her mouth like the ocean tide, and fail to make any sense. _In that case, nothing will have changed,_ she thought with some tinge of amusement.

Lútheiņ looked on the girl with fondness, holding up her hand to stay Miles's words, "Now, child, before you get started we must step inside. For the sun grows hot, and you and your friend have been outside all day. Let us step inside for a moment." She led the way into her home, which was no less charming than when Miles had last left it, and offered them each a drink of Faelnirv.

On behalf of Thad as well as herself, Miles declined – she didn't think it wise to expose her friend to such a strong drink while they would have to be training the next day, or perhaps even traveling after these Giants.

After they were all settled in the elegant wooden chairs around the small table in Lútheiņ's home, the elf spoke once more. "Now," She said, "You must tell me all that has happened since we last spoke."

Miles had been eager to speak on the subject only moments before, but now that she examined what she had wanted to say, none of it was anything she wanted Lútheiņ to know. She didn't want to speak of the way she was shunned and bullied in the east, or how it was the camp was then destroyed – however, the training since then, in Ellesméra, seemed a fair enough topic to broach without anything too negative tainting it.

So, she spoke of their training – how she was terrible at swordsmanship, but was improving slowly, and how Thad was talented. Though Miles had been fluent in the Ancient Language, Thad had made great progress in that area. They'd both gained great knowledge on a wide variety of other topics they might encounter later while helping to police Alagaësia, and both of them had learned a number of useful spells; though, on considerably different levels. She spoke highly of Eragon, and of his teaching – for he had done a great job, despite the circumstances.

She spoke until her throat was dry, and then spoke a bit more; gods know if she was capable of anything, it was talking. Lútheiņ remained as patient as ever with her speech, and Thad seemed amused by it. The two remained polite with each other throughout, and Miles knew that Thad could not regard her old mentor and caretaker the same way she did upon their first meeting, and so she was satisfied with the interaction.

After she had finally finished speaking, Lútheiņ nodded from across the table where she sat, lithe and observant as ever.

"You have experienced much since we last met," She said, nodding with approval, "You have grown much; I am proud,"

This lifted Miles's spirits like a thousand flights past the summer sun. A wide smile broke across her face, and she positively beamed.

A knock sounded from the door before the elf could speak again, to Miles's disappointment, and it was Eragon who stepped through the door.

He greeted Lútheiņ with respect, and politely requested that Miles and Thad accompany him at once on 'urgent businesses'. Miles frowned; disappointed that her visit should be cut short before it had _really_ began, but knew she must obey.

Lútheiņ agreed, and gracefully showed them out of her home. However, she pulled Miles aside before the three left to join their respective dragons, and set off on whatever Eragon had wanted them to do. In a surprising show of affection, Lútheiņ gave Miles the briefest of hugs.

"Do not fret," She said, "There will be other times for you to return to Ellesméra, and different occasions for us to talk. Go, be on your way, and do what must be done."

"I will," She answered smiling.

The group departed, and Miles immediately asked what this 'urgent business' was, and why it had to be so urgent as to interrupt their visit. She knew she was being more than a little rude, but – feeling more like her old self, despite the 'growth' she'd experienced in the past years – she didn't much care.

"Well," Her new mentor answered, choosing his words with care, "If we're going to be fighting, then you'll need something to fight with."

Miles felt dread clutch at her stomach:_ He means swords._

* * *

A.N - So, I said I was going to be better about updating more quickly, and instead, I'm pretty sure I got worse. Whoops :/ I'm hoping the next chapter won't take so long!


	8. To Reach Beyond the Rain

It was raining again.

The thing about rain in a forest, as Miles had discovered, was that it never lasted for one night – the water caught on leaves and pooled into minute crystalline puddles, ready to drip down upon you at the slightest disturbance. If you then take into consideration the fact that the trees in Du Weldenvarden are positively massive, and you have a veritable soups worth of water dripping down upon you at any minor provocation – for example, walking.

Though, that was the simple after effects of the rain as she had experienced them many a time before – however, now, it was most definitely _still_ raining. The drops still pouring from a sky, undoubtedly gray, yet obscured by massive amounts of green.

The respite of the day that Miles and Thad first met Rhunön, it seemed, could not last. In fact, it had already begun to rain as they returned to the complex of treehouses built for the Riders.

_You know you should really close that,_ Said Eværín, who was laying – once again – curled up a safe distance away from Miles, in his own bed. Miles herself sat in front of the large opening that served as a window during nice weather, and a canvased wall during rainstorms.

Well, all rainstorms except for this infinitely long one.

As the storm settled in for its third night of downpour after another hour or so of respite, Miles didn't bother to close the canvas. She sat in front of the portal, letting the rain pour down upon her with unrelenting impunity; it soaked her to the skin in a matter of minutes, chilling her to the bone and making her shiver int he night. She couldn't bring herself to care, much less to move and block up the portal once more; there was something so terrifyingly beautiful about the forest as it was torn by droplets of rain, falling violently a midst the darkening landscape. Winds that were blocked and gentled by magic upon herself ripped at the limbs of the trees, taking a fair few from their owners.

She could have blocked the rain with magic, too, of course, and for only a bit more energy to what she was already using – but she didn't much feel like it. There was something clarifying to herself, aside from the view of the rain-torn landscape; it was the cold rain as it drenched her skin. No, she did not really much feel like moving.

She held her necklace between two sodden hands, drops of rain dripping like sweat off the purple surface of the crystal and she stared at it.

_I don't really want to, _she finally mustered the energy to say, feeling faint and sick at heart.

What had started at as an innocent way to store some more extra energy for the potential fights to come had ended as one of her nightly brooding sessions; brooding about everything from weapons and magic to people and the past, extending all the way into the future. She couldn't stop her mind from swirling in endless circles, trying to make sense of all that had happened – how some girl off the streets had somehow ended up _here_ of all places. How she had been seemingly been given some sort of enigmatic prophecy that even the man who brought down the Empire could not make heads nor tails of.

How did she end up like this?

While the answer seemed simple, as it often did; but, the more she tried to spell it out, the more it eluded her. One small bit would not fit into the puzzle, and she was forced to take a step back and try again - and every time she did, something or someone added more pieces for her to configure.

At first, the answer was simple and acceptable – Eværín, he was the reason she was here. But, as she began to accept that – and happily, for he meant the world to her, and her identity belonged to him as much as it belonged to her, and vice-versa – she got the feeling that wasn't quite right.

No, that wasn't all there was to this; not by a long shot. She could have been like at least a dozen other girls back in the East, at New Vrogengard – they'd all been bonded to dragons, too, but their time in this world was over, and that was for naught; they lay in an eternal sleep, never to see their families again, and their dragons along with them.

No, as much as it made her queasy to think about, she was not just a typical Rider.

That, in turn, led her to believe that Thad was no mere Rider either; just as Eragon hadn't been, though maybe the latter for more obvious reasons. As much as she wanted to meekly follow her new mentor and do as he told her, she knew she must make her own path – she had to do _something._

She had this almost rabid compulsion to leave in pursuit of this – _foolish spirit, _wherever it was. It was as if she'd been enchanted, enthralled by this idea – possessed by some kind of other-worldly spirit, driving her to do _something – **anything!**_

Part of her had already made up her mind to leave the second night of the rain, but she knew it would be foolish to do so in such weather. She knew that Eværín could absolutely withstand such a downpour and be able to fly out of it, but it wouldn't make sense to start off such a journey so foolishly when she could wait another week or so and preserve their energy. Add to it, even.

Though there was a part of her that wanted to so adventurously take off after some insubstantial dream looping around inside her mind, she knew that the venture in and of itself would be nothing but foolishness, and dangerous as well – the kind of thing that had often gotten young Riders killed centuries ago, when the first Order had still policed the peoples of Alagaësia. It was exactly this kind of venture that had created a mad, convoluted Dragon Rider, who then took over all of Alagaësia and used it for his own means, regardless for the effects to the well-being of its people, usurping the throne of the Broddring Kingdom.

But she couldn't just _sit still_ – not anymore.

Ever since she'd been 'evaluated' – though, she believed the word 'humiliated' was a better fit – for a weapon by the smith Rhunön, she'd been studying and practicing small things, like meditation and magic, within the confines of walls and roofs, relying on only a few glass windows to tell her of the conditions outside. She longed for the sunshine that had once warmed the earth, casting everything it touched with a new and rosy glow.

Maybe some actual exercise would allow her to chase these demons from her mind, and allow her to focus on the task at hand, _really_ at hand – to help Eragon, Thad and however many others to avenge the deaths of so many Riders and Dragons, along with numerable elves, dwarves, urgals and even humans.

Not to say that she hadn't had her fill of exhaustion. No, the magic she practiced took her energy endurance to the limits beyond, but allowed her to maintain spells ever longer. She those were the few instances when she found herself curling up in her bed for some much-needed sleep. However, when it didn't, she then dedicated her time to putting as much energy as she could spare into her necklace; that, if nothing else, left her eyelids drooping shut.

_You should not worry so much,_ said Eværín. She heard the scrape of his scales on the wood as he got up and walked as gently as possible next to her, walking from the part of the room she kept dry with magic to the rain-soaked half, and sitting next to her.

_I wouldn't call it worrying._ She said, returning to her original task – placing energy into the crystal before she possibly caught a few meager hours of sleep.

_Call it what you wish; it shall only serve to poison your mind if you allow it to control you for much longer._ He said, curling up around her; the warmth of the fire that slept within all dragons warmed her back, but she did not welcome the feeling._ Come now – you need rest. Tomorrow, the sun might be out. _

_I doubt it._ She said, catching one last glimpse of the blackened landscape before a stretch of purple-veined membrane closed over her, and Eværín's wing began to shelter her from the rain. She could feel herself drying off, and for the first time began to wonder how long she had been sitting there.

_Long enough,_ Eværín told her. _Morning is not far off – the others will come looking for you tomorrow. I do not think your peculiar behavior has gone unnoticed, so tread carefully._

_I will._ She said, leaning back. She played over the last few days in her mind one last time, stopping on the memory of Rhunön – the elf puzzled her, as so many things had lately. Though, Rhunön could have answered her questions instead of posing riddles and then shooing the lot of them from her forge so she could work - but instead, Miles found herself with yet another thing to ponder in the late hours of the night.

As if she needed another reason to forgo sleep.

She had sat on the edge of the clearing while the elf examined Thad's fighting style – they sparred for a few moments, and she asked him a few questions, and was able to lay out a description of a blade that Thad immediately agreed too. All the while, Miles felt the growing feeling of nausea in her stomach, as she knew she could never have such a successful sparring match and would be able to answer no _real_ questions about swords or the like.

And, in a way, every single thought that mingled with dread in those instances came true; she wasn't really able to spar with anything (she kept dropping the damned thing, wonder of wonders) and was only barely able to keep herself from amassing a truly impressive collection of bruises, the likes of which she hadn't received since the full-on days of training in New Vroengard. Yes, they'd sparred in Ellesméra, but they hadn't spent _nearly_ as much time on it as she was used to – and, as a result, much of the admittedly small amount of progress she'd made had disappeared since their arrival, to her frustration; it had been hard won, her small amounts of skill.

But, after a few remarks from the elf that were something in between sheer amusement and contempt, a look of revelation crossed her face.

"Ah, I know what you need, I do." Said the elf, and she then promptly shooed them from the forge like children from their mother's kitchen, though with much less affection.

_Great._ For all Miles knew, she would show up after Murtagh arrived in Du Weldenvarden with the others to get their swords; she would have a large shield, or something of the like, and be told that she might as well go back to where she came from.

It was probably the safest option for everyone; someone as clumsy as her with a sword would be nothing but a liability in all but the smallest of squabbles – Miles knew she would be stuck with the pet magicians if she were ever to be a part of such fights.

Still, it would be embarrassing, but all she could do was wait.

_Enough. _Said Eværín, _you need to sleep._ And with that, he enveloped her mind more fully with his own; encompassing it with the vastness of his consciousness until she could not tell the difference between their thoughts, and together they fell asleep.

The next day, she awoke to the same dull plunk of rain on the roof of the tree house – but it was now accompanied by the sound of rain politely plying itself against the membranes of Eværín's wings, leaving behind small darkened blotches in between frayed rays of sunlight.

Miles was cramped, having fallen asleep, with Eværín's help, in an awkward sitting position; she was half-fallen against his side, with her legs twisted up uncomfortably. She lay there for several moments, dreading the sudden rush of blood she knew she'd feel in her legs upon moving – it was only when she heard a knock on her door that she was able to force herself to get up. Wincing momentarily, she walked out of the bedroom to get the door, her movements wary.

"I'm coming, calm down," She said, opening the door and feeling more than twice her age. _I don't ever want to grow old if this is what it feels like,_ she decided, internally groaning. She opened the door to see Thad, Eragon and a man with dark hair and dark eyes she assumed to be the illustrious Murtagh.

_Wow, my luck is brilliant,_ she grumbled to Eværín. Her hair was messed up, and her clothes had the stiff-wrinkled look that resulted from their prolonged exposure to rain. She had been tucking her necklace back inside her shirt, which she was _sure_ added greatly to her first impression – or, in the case of Thad and Eragon, their opinions of her.

_Well, they were probably never too great to begin with. Good thing I don't care._ She sighed, knowing full well that _that_ was a lie – she mightn't care for the opinions of some others, but Thad and Eragon, her friend and her mentor and teacher? Yes, she cared quite a bit.

She blinked, taking in the three men before her, and it slowly registered that it was still raining – they must be holding off the downpour with magic. But still, she ought to invite them in.

She did so by moving to the side, "Is something happening?" She said, frowning, "because I'm pretty sure its still raining."

"Not particularly," Said Thad tentatively, giving her an amused and flashy smile when he stepped inside. Eragon and Murtagh followed warily, not looking nearly so agreeable as the boy before them.

She looked at them as they passed, Thad standing beside her.

"Rough night?" He asked, flicking one of innumerable stray curls out of her face. She rolled her eyes.

"Something like that," She said, dismissive. She was eager to know what had caused such a visit to her quarters once Murtagh had arrived, instead of the usual courtesies that must be paid to the elves – though, perhaps he'd already paid them? There was no real way to tell.

If she had to guess, the fact that she had – once again – not been up in a timely fashion, Eragon had collected Thad and come to wake her up and inform them both at once of whatever he wanted them to know.

It was a wonder he didn't try to force her to wake up earlier, though she knew that any conventional methods of enforcing such a thing generally failed dismally when she used them. It was nice of him, in any case.

As it turns out, as they all awkwardly squished into her small study – Eragon and Murtagh the only ones actually _in_ the room, with Miles standing in the doorway and Thad leaning up against it half-beside and half-behind her – that Eragon had wanted to introduce the both of them to Murtagh, and Murtagh to them, and then to inform them that, regardless of the weather, they would be departing for the Dwarvish Capital, located in Farthen Dûr, three days hence. They would first be going to a series of Elvish cities – Kirtan, to Ília Feön and then to the Dwarvish city of Tarnag and _then_ to Farthen Dûr. He also notified them that they would be returning to Rhunön's forge the evening before their departure.

Though it seemed like little to cover, Eragon spoke for at length to cover the topics, before fading into a tense silence. Miles fixed her own gaze from Eragon to Murtagh – his half-brother – and examined him at length. He had brooding gray eyes and lengthy brown hair, much like Thad's, that swept over his face. He was taller than Eragon, and Miles imagined that when he spoke his words came out both strong and silent – though his demeanor seemed tense, she guessed that might just be his arrival into a new city. She wondered if he'd ever relax, or laugh. He didn't seem the type.

After a moment of them all staring around at each other, Miles awkwardly excused herself to get dressed and un-bedraggle herself, and promptly left the doorway – well, as best as she could, as Thad was still half behind her. She watched from the side of the small foyer as they all trundled out the front doorway, Murtagh and Eragon followed by Thad – Thad giving her a small wink before shutting the door behind him. She gave him a small smile and a wave, a silent promise to see him later.

After the door shut behind him, Miles sank to the ground.

_I think my mind is breaking,_ she told Eværín.

_You should get more sleep._

_I should, but I can't._

_I'll help you._

_I didn't know you could make me fall asleep before, why haven't you ever tried it?_

_I didn't know either, it just occurred to me. I'll help you fall asleep when bad thoughts keep you awake, little one,_ he said comfortingly. She sighed, and nodded to herself.

Not feeling like even getting to her feet, she crawled the short distance to the washroom. She sat cross-legged next to the washtub, and started the water. She watched it fill up for about five minutes, before remembering that she would have to take off her clothes in order to get in, and reluctantly got up.

Sometime later, after she washed all the remnants of sleep from her mind and dressed properly, Miles hurried out of her tree house, eager to move onto another part of her day. She cast a spell before leaving to prevent any rain from falling on her – as the downpour had shown no signs of letting up – and hurried out into the day.

From her small dome of clean air, she could see that the tree house occupied by Eragon – noticeably larger than those of Thad and herself – was darkened. She surmised that he was out, most likely with Murtagh, attending to capital A-adult business. She briefly wondered which tree house Murtagh was staying in, before hurrying up the long staircase to Thad's quarters.

She knocked on the door, and Thad swung the door in after a few seconds. She almost punched him in the nose, meaning to knock once more.

"Oi!" He said, catching her fist. She had been looking in another direction, and not noticed him come to the door.

"Sorry," She said, laughing and brushing past him into his room. He had been sitting on his bed – she could tell from the various scrolls spread around its surface. She walked into his bedroom, greeting Velęs, before turning her attention to the scrolls, and picking one up.

"Studying?" She said, calling over her shoulder. Thad walked in the room behind her, peeking over her shoulder at what she'd picked up.

"What else?" He said, "I haven't gotten anything new, though."

"Well, I haven't read these," She said, sitting on the edge of the bed and scanning the first few lines inscribed on the page. She patted the spot beside her, "Tell me about them,"

He sat, moving the other scrolls out of the way, and taking the scroll from her hands. She leaned over his shoulder to still get a good look at the lines, waiting for him to speak.

"The Epic of the Nine Swords – that's a human tale, one of the few, if I'm being honest. It's about the army who laid siege to Aroughs with only Nine Swords and took the city."

"They took the city? But that place is impregnable!"

"Well, there was a reason it was rebuilt that way," He said, reaching over to knock on my head as if it were empty, "Use your brain, eh?" He smiled and returned to the scroll. He was able to talk at length about the siege of Aroughs by the Nine Swords – such a length that it was a good hour or so before Miles could coax him onto another one to tell her about.

After all, she didn't want to spend the entire day – or, the day until Eragon collected them again – listening to one siege. She liked the story, but it was not so complex as to be picked over for hours and still be interesting, or at least not to her.

Eventually, she simply cut off his sentence by skipping out of the bedroom and into the small study, picking a scroll out at random and promptly shoving it into his hands when he, dismayed at her exit, followed her. She gave him an angelic smile.

"Let's talk about this one now," She said firmly. As it turned out, it was a large scroll of elvish children's tales – fairy tales, the Tales of Old as some elders might call them. The kind of tales told before a child's bedtime, to scare them from leaving their rooms until their parents could supervise them; though, what kind of monsters would be able to keep an elf in check, when they were already exposed to such fearsome beasts – and easily able to best them – would be completely beyond Miles's imagination.

She led him back into the bedroom for, in truth, there was not enough room for them both to comfortably sit and talk at length in the small study room.

The scroll was thick, containing many stories written so long ago that the black runes had long since faded into dull grays and blues; the scenes at the bottom, though once excellently rendered, were missing entire chunks of scenery, as indeed parts of the stories had gone missing seemingly right off the page – lost to time, and to this world.

However, there was one story that had somehow remained preserved. It was almost pristine in its look; the parchment paper crisp and new, the lettering looking as if it had only dried a moment ago.

"Well that's curious," Said Thad, as the flipped over the scroll, scanning it for any indication as to why this one story had been preserved, while the others had been left to the ravages of time.

"You mean you haven't read it before?" Said Miles, interested.

"No," He admitted, looking at the story through squinted eyes; its withered kin lay scattered and forgotten around it. "I don't think I've seen any of these before… its strange, I would have sworn that I'd read the contents of that bookcase inside and out. I must've missed this one,"

"Must have," Miles muttered, ghosting her own fingers along the decrept scrolls. _It must have been magic,_ she told Eværín, _It must have hid them. Though why here… and why was I allowed to see them, to pick them up? Thad couldn't see them until they left the shelf._

_I know not,_ he said, _but be wary about them; it is best to practice caution when treading amongst the unknown._

_They're just scrolls, what harm could they do?_

_The worst harm, you'll find, is centered on knowledge._

An image of fire and of flashing swords swept through her mind, and Miles found she had a hard time believing that any worse harm could come to people, but she did not press the point. She was sure if Eværín was right – and, annoyingly, he often was – then she would find out in due time.

In the meantime, her curiosity had peaked on the contents of the mysteriously preserved story, and she simply had to know what it was. It wasn't even that long – something entitled, _"The Wandering Boy"._

"Go on; read it aloud." She urged Thad.

"Alright then," He obliged:

"_Long ago, there was a boy, walking along the far northern reaches of the Frozen Wastes, with nothing but a cheerful whistle to keep him company. He had been banished, as the eldest son of a Mad King; the who had failed to do anything when his father's thoughts began to turn from a path of sense into the depths of chaos._

_And so, the boy was banished. At the age of seventeen, he made his way into the place where no sane individual would wonder without protection; but he did not despair. He approached the frozen and barren land with a skip in his step and a whistle on his lips, his eyes bright with adventure._

_But it did not last._

_In time, he reached a sight he deemed a good place to live out his exile_

_After the sun sank below the horizon on the fourth day after his arrival, he began to hear noises off in the distant darkness. He dismissed it, at first, as the rustling borne of wild animals and the like. He rested easily that night._

_The next night, however, the noises came closer to the place where the boy slept, but once again he dismissed it._

"_Wolves cannot hurt me while I am armed," He said to no one, and once more he rested easily._

_However, on the third night, the noises came ever closer; and they sounded like no wild animal the boy had ever known. He was unable to sleep that night, but hear the sounds of thumping, inhumane footsteps coming ever closer._

_It was a monster, so large and terrible that the boy was paralyzed with fear when it came into view. The thing was lonely, vengeful and hating; the last of its kind, and the unfortunate boy was sleeping where He had made his home since the decimation of his people in the Untold Wars of Old._

_And the monster was angry._

_The monster, in his rage, sought to kill the boy for no more than a moment. About to deliver the death blow unto the boy, having quickly snatched him off the ground with a strength that could hold up the sky itself, the monster suddenly thought better of his actions. Death was too easy for this intruder._

"_I release your body," it said in a terrible, silently breathing voice, "But your soul I shall keep." And so, the monster stole the foolish boy's soul, and kept it for his own, to wear upon his belt as a prize. It is said that without a soul to wither and die inside it, the boy's body still wanders about the frozen wasteland that lies to the north of this world; waiting for death's final sleep, but without a soul to send into the next life, it cannot yet depart._

_And so, it wanders. Without soul, without home, and without hope."_

Thad finished the story, flipping over the scroll to make sure that there was nothing left of the story before rolling it up and placing it on the bed.

"Well that was … interesting," Said Miles, after a moment of silence enveloped the room. Even Velęs's snores – which had filled the room with a warm vibration that beat back the chill air from the rain – had ceased for a moment.

"Interesting indeed," He said, scanning through the rest of the stories and seeing if any others were legible enough to read. "These might be elvish, but they aren't so different from the ones I grew up hearing. Most of them were about humans, but some were about elves. None about dwarves, or urgals, though,"

"No, I wouldn't have expected that. But it is odd… I wonder if these are fairy tales…" She said. Could they be… a history? Lost to the ages?

_A foolish boy,_ she said to Eværín, _who lost his spirit – a foolish spirit, needing to be set free! Could that not be the exact thing I have been instructed to do? Eværín, this is it! This scroll as meant to find its way to me! It all makes _sense!

_Perhaps,_ he said,_ but even if it is, you cannot go after it now._

_Why not? The sooner the better, don't you think? What if this helps us defeat the things that obliterated the camp? It'll be worth it! Don't you see?!_

_Patience,_ huffed Eværín, _The Northern Wastes are nothing to travel lightly, even on the back of a dragon. _

_But we _have _to! _

_We 'must' do nothing. Even with the trappings of fate and prophecy, nothing can be done if those it is designed around do nothing. Whatever it is will not happen without us, and so it can wait for us. We shall rush into no decision._

_You don't mean that. We can't do _nothing_!_

_We won't do nothing, no. We shall accompany the others to the lands of the Dwarves in the Beor Mountains, and only if we must, and only if Eragon agrees, shall we then depart for the Northern Wastes._

_But - _Miles didn't have any counter arguments to Eværín, as usual, but she felt a deep desire to grasp the story of the Wandering Boy, tuck it under her tunic and run outside and leave that instant. _Murtagh was in the North! He's clearly fine!_

_You have not his experience, and even so, I doubt he ventured far into the true barren and icy depths of the wastelands. The North, aye, but not the Wastes. We shall not go there on the words of a children's tale, unless bidden to by those more wise and experienced than we._

She sighed,_ Fine._ Looking up at Thad, who was rolling up some of the more damaged scrolls, she held a hand out to stop him.

"Wait," She said, "Let me look at that."

For the rest of the rainy afternoon, Miles and Thad sat on his bed, reading the Tales of Old, though in fragments. They made up humorous bits to place into the parts where the runes had long since faded, which made the solemnity of the discovery muted. It seemed that an hour or two of sunshine hand managed to envelope them, even in the midst of the rain.

* * *

A.N. - this chapter, I must say, did _not_ turn out anything like I was expecting. I was slowed down in writing it, and as a result (or so I think) this part above, which was originally only supposed to be one part of it, got almost obscenely long (in my opinion) and yet I couldn't bring myself to edit it down any more. Still, I hope its not too shabby! I think I can safely say more action will be cropping up in the next chapter or so - maybe not exactly fighting, but something more than this.


	9. Swords, Tea, and the Northern Wastes

"_It's perfect._"; That was the first thing to echo through Miles's mind.

'It' was the sword – of sorts – that Rhunön had made for her, except it was just as unlike a sword as it was like one; it hand a long handle that could only have fit her grip better if she'd been born with it in her grasp. It was wrapped comfortably in leather, and molded gently so that it would take a real effort to drop. The blade itself was a brilliant purple, which sparkled in its odd shape, looking like much like an overlarge spear head, and twice as deadly.

_It would be ideal for blocking,_ thought Miles, looking at the sword with wonder, _but I could also use it with an equal measure of attack… it's double edged, but its cut to be broad in the middle, see? So if I improve, then I can adapt more offensive styles of fighting. It's perfect._

_I am glad you are satisfied with it._

Rhunön looked down on me with satisfaction, and behind her Eragon and Thad were admiring Thad's own new sword – tenfold more conventional than Miles's, but now that she had hers, she would not trade it for the world.

Behind Miles, Eværín snorted, a puff of smoke ghosting across her back. The slightly acrid smell, easily blown away on the wind, would have made her nose burn and itch had she not been so used to it – but, after so many years of being bonded to Eværín, she now simply enjoyed the warmed breeze, especially amidst the rain-induced chill.

_What shall you call it? _he asked.

_I don't know – I hadn't thought about it, and Thad and I never spoke of it._

_Well, choose wisely; it is something you will carry with you for the rest of your days, unless you are extremely unfortunate._

_Which I usually am,_ Miles pointed out, though she doubted she would ever let this particular weapon out of her sights. It was one of a kind, and she wasn't about to attempt fencing with a normal sword again.

Miles looked up at the elf standing over her, and bowed deeply.

"Rhunön-elda," She said, "I don't know what to say – you have my utmost thanks, it's a perfect weapon."

For the first time, or at least the first time Miles had ever seen, Rhunön smiled.

"I give it to thee, Miles," she said solemnly, "bear it well."

Miles nodded meekly as Thad and Eragon joined them – Murtagh was already back at the collection of tree houses, and already asleep, Miles suspected. She knew she would be if she were him; they left at dawn on their journey to Farthen Dûr. It wouldn't be a long journey, per say, with luck they would only be flying a little over a week. Maybe two.

"What shall you name it?" Asked Eragon, mentioning towards her blade. "It is an odd shape," he commented.

"Yes, but it's perfect, look!" She said, and grasping the blade carefully on the blade, being sure not to touch the razor-sharp edge and draw her own blood, and showed him the handle. "Its going to be almost impossible to drop, you see?"

He studied for a moment, and rested a finger on the amethyst set into the pommel, raising an eyebrow. "May I?" Miles nodded, indicating her consent.

The man drew the blade from it's sheath, eliciting a sharp metallic noise. He held it up to the light, studying it's shape.

"Yes, I think this will do well in your hands," He said absently, running a hand along the center of the blade; the place where the runes of the elves would soon identify it as hers with the name of her choosing.

She just had to choose one.

A word, a name, rose unbidden from the depths of her mind. "What about hope?" She said.

At this, Eragon smiled, "I once thought to call my own blade 'hope', you know." He said.

"Really?" She said, taking back her own weapon and looking it over once more; her eyes drank in the sight of the amethyst blade, as if it would disappear if she did not keep a careful eye on it. "Why?"

"Something about bringing hope to the peoples of Alagaësia, and fighting the sword 'misery' with a blade called 'hope' – but, as Saphira pointed out to me, you'll not want to be stabbing your opponents with hope on a battlefield."

"And why not? I think hope is the worst thing you can use against a person. _I_ would not want to be stabbed with hope, but that's just my opinion."

"Yes, I suppose so," He said, after considering it for a moment. "But name it what you will – the blade is yours,"

Miles turned her attention to Thad, then, who was admiring his own weapon in the light of the forge. It was a shade of amber equally vibrant to her own sword, and he held it up so that she could easily see it. It was long, much longer than her own, and looked more powerful and deadly as well.

She sidled over to him. "What do you think of it?" She said brightly, her eyes shining with excitement. She stood beside him, looking at the blade from over his shoulder on her tip-toes. "What shall you name it?"

"'Kvekya" he said, not looking away from his sword, "Lightening."

"A fitting name." answered Miles with approval; she could see Thad fighting with this blade, moving quickly in a deadly dance around his opponents, the blade flashing through the air like strokes of lethal lightening.

"And yours?" he said, sheathing the sword and turning to face her. She held it out for him to examine.

"'Nadĕje'" She said, "Hope."

"Hope?"

"Don't act like you can't hear me, numbskull. Yes, hope."

He gave her a half smile, his eyes as bright as the fires she could see behind him, shinning through curtains of brown hair. She reached up and tousled it.

"You need a hair cut," she remarked. He rolled his eyes.

"Enough." Said Rhunön, holding her hands out for their swords. Immediately, they both faded into somber reverence once more, and handed her their sheathed blades. Speaking quickly in the Ancient Language, with the kind of fluency only the elves posses, Rhunön added the names chosen by their respective owners to the blades before presenting them to Miles and Thad one last time; this time, for good, as a completely finished Rider's Swords.

Technically, it made them both Riders in full – even though they really were only being given these blades to help fight off whatever they were flying off to meet tomorrow. They both still had months and maybe even years more of training undertake before they would be truly deserving of the title.

After thanking Rhunön one last, time, the group departed from the forge and made for the treehouses for one last time.

_I'm really going to miss this place,_ Miles said to Eværín, _It feels like I've only just come back._

_We shall return again, I think. _He said.

_Yes, definitely._

The group then departed, bidding each other pleasant dreams, though Miles already felt that she would not be able to sleep.

_Do you wish for me to help you?_ Said Eværín, as he settled into his bed.

_No, I'll be fine._ She said, curling up under the soft blankets that adorned the bed.

_No you won't,_ said Eværín, but he relented; _but if you need me, you need only to wake me._

_I know._

Soon after, Eværín dropped quickly into a deep sleep that Miles was envious of. She sighed, and settled on her back under the blankets, wondering if she'd ever solve the mystery set to her by her dreams, or if she'd forever find herself lying awake like this; convinced that there was still work to be done by a mere whim of her unconscious mind.

It felt like years that she stared up at the wooden ceiling of the tree house; the blankets grew stuffy, but she still felt closed in and stifled after kicking them off. She tried sitting in front of the portal, where a cool breeze picked up the moisture from the ground, and sighed at the wind's cool touch. She had the overwhelming urge to go outside and feel the night's cool air press down around her, and stood.

Pulling on a pair of leggings, and shoving her feet into her boots, she slipped out the door as quickly as she could – which is to say, she made a racket the equivalent of a band of trampling horses.

Even if Eværín had not been bonded to her mind, she would have most likely woken him. However, he seemed to have sensed through his deep sleep that she was about to do something rather odd – _again_ – while she should be sleeping.

_Going somewhere?_ He asked, his large eye clicking open to stare at her as she tucked in her night shirt.

_Just getting some air,_ she said,_ I'll be back in a moment, go back to sleep. You aren't my nanny, I'll be fine._

_If you say so,_ he said, his eye drooping closed once more. She waited a moment for his mind to droop back into the clutches of his dreams, before making for the door. Muttering a quick spell for a werelight to hover above her palm – just barely large enough to light her way – she opened the door and slipped into the dark night.

The cool air hit her like a blessed breath of air after too long spent submerged. It was delightful to escape into the night after feeling so stifled for ages and ages.

She walked down the stairs, not stopping to consider where she was going, but simply enjoying her small walk.

Her feet carried her across the clearing, passing the tree house which housed Eragon – he was still up, she could tell by the light that lit one of the window-portals – and found herself at the staircase of Thad's tree house.

Before she could think, she found herself at the top of the staircase, knocking quietly on the door. She knew Thad was a light sleeper – he was truly a warrior at heart, he could be up and fighting in his nightclothes at a moments notice.

So, he came to the door quickly, his eyes puffy with sleep and shirtless – as she knew he slept – but very much alert.

"Is someone dying?" He asked calmly, his voice still thick with sleep.

Miles shook her head, immediately feeling childish. _I shouldn't have come here. _"No."

"Then what in the name of all that is holy are you doing on my doorstep at this time of night?" He said, rubbing his eyes tiredly, but giving her a small smile. _Only Thad could still manage a smile at this time of night when he's been woken up for no apparent reason._

"I couldn't sleep," She said, sheepish.

"Well, come in, then." He said, pushing the door open. Miles stepped into the darkness of Thad's tree house. He closed the door, and put one muscled arm around her and led her to the bedroom, like an older brother might.

"I think you've gotten taller," Said Miles, as she craned her neck to look up at him – surely, he hadn't been that tall before?

"Two inches since we came to Ellesméra, not that I'm keeping track," He said, smiling. "Come on, you need sleep."

"But I can't sleep, didn't I tell you? That's how I ended up here."

"Yes, but you need sleep, and I need sleep. Why didn't you wake Eværín?" He said.

"I did, unintentionally. I thought I was just going to go for a quick walk… "She said, fading sheepishly. "I ended up here." _I sound like such a ninny. No normal people go knocking on their friends doors at such ungodly hours of the night with such weak excuses._

"At least you didn't wander of, I'm sure Eragon and Murtagh would have been _ecstatic_ about that, come morning." He said, and grabbed two cups off of a small table in the corner. With a multitude of muttered words in the ancient language – truly, his skills with magic had improved vastly, and with a keenness and speed that Miles was very much jealous of – he filled them with near-boiling water.

He pulled from the table a small leather pouch Miles remembered seeing on his belt for the journey to Du Weldenvarden; but she'd never thought to see what it was – Tea, as it turned out. _ Well that's an odd thing for a Dragon Rider to carry around,_ She remarked to herself, watching as he added the tea leaves.

"Here," he said, handing her one steaming glass. "My mother always made this for when someone couldn't sleep, growing up, or when someone was upset. She gave it to me before I left home,"

Miles looked down at the cup with a new understanding, sipping gratefully; it tasted faintly of oranges and mint, and smelled just as soothing. Thad treasured his past with his family at Woadark Lake, she knew, and for him to share some of the small things he still carried from that life with her was something she appreciated.

She felt a great surge in affection for the boy, "Thank you," She said, and she meant it.

"So," He said, "Out with it, then."

Miles frowned, "What do you mean?"

"What's got you up so late? If I'm not mistaken you've not been sleeping very well these past few nights. You look like death every time someone comes to wake you – like you'd sleep a century off without once stirring. Eragon said we'd best let you sleep as long as possible, while we're still here and can still afford it."

"Oh, I don't know," Said Miles, taking a quick sip of tea and looking away. "This and that, I suppose. I'm anxious. I'm nervous. I'm terrible at relaxing, because I'm so relaxed normally – in fact, sleeping used to be one of my talents," She said, smiling dryly.

"I remember," He said, sipping at his own tea. "Anxious and nervous about…?"

She shrugged, "Things." She said simply, "It's no mere band of thieves we're after,"

"No, it's not."

"And if…" She hesitated, not wanting to make Thad more apprehensive of what they were about to do before they even departed for Farthen Dûr. But, he had asked – it would be downright rude to hedge any more, after she'd woken him up so late, and she was already beating around the bush; not that he knew it. She felt foolish to have put so much stock in a dream, even after Eragon had told her to pay attention to it.

"If…?" he prompted.

"If... if an entire camp's worth of Riders – admittedly, new ones, though still powerful – _and_ all those who had been deemed wise and talented enough to teach us were not able to defeat whatever it is, than what chance do the four of us have, even with the dwarves? Even if we reach them before whatever it is arrives there, that is, and if the elves send help… would that be enough? You didn't see the camp after it was ravaged; it was completely torn apart, and little more than a smoking ruin, if that. I don't know. I don't know if we can do it, but we'll fly straight into it nonetheless."

There was a moment of silence. Steam rose off of the glass of tea, clutched in Miles's hand as she huddled around it, warming her face. The smell was welcoming, and tempted her to take another sip, but she did not look away from Thad's face.

"Well, I can't offer you any comfort there," He said, finally, "I wasn't there. I don't know. I doubt anyone does right now." He shrugged, "All we can do is what you said – fly straight into it, and fight with all our hearts, and hope to succeed."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we die knowing we did all we could, and we must be content with that."

"I'm not content with that. I want it _done,_ and I'd like to live to see the next sunrise besides."

"As would I, but we cannot always have that which we desire. Some people and things, and even monsters will be greater than others, and you _will_ face some things in life that you cannot overcome. This might be one of them. We don't know."

"We don't know," She echoed, forlorn. She didn't feel exactly better, but she felt more at peace. Maybe that was just the drowsiness.

They finished sipping their tea in a kind of calming silence that slipped around them like a warm and comforting blanket. They drank to the last, cold dregs of their glasses, and stood in unison.

Thad took their mugs back to the small table, cleaning them both with a word of the ancient language.

"Now you're just showing off," Miles said, a smile returning to her face and breaking the long silence.

"Maybe," He replied, grinning. "Come on, let's get some sleep,"

And so, they slept each on their own side of the bed (though Thad hogged the small cover, as Miles would never let him forget) and for the first time, in a long time, Miles felt completely and confidently at rest.

• • •

They were the first ones up the next morning; whatever gods there are be thanked for that. Things might have wavered towards the awkward side of things had Eragon come in to get Thad and found the both of them asleep on his bed. Not that anything they'd done the previous night had been particularly romantic, more the kind of thing that siblings or good friends would do for one another.

Or so Miles felt, at least.

They were off quickly, though Miles did find herself growing more than a little impatient after Eragon disappeared for upwards of an hour to bid the Queen Arya farewell. It was still only an hour after dawn that they departed, while the sun still hung low on the eastern horizon.

They had an easy flight to Kirtan, and would have easily been able to reach the city by midday or mid-morning the next day, had they flown through the night.

"Why are we stopping?" Miles asked, as she slid from Eværín's back to the ground, managing to only fall a little. "I thought we needed to help the dwarves. Shouldn't we be flying to their aid as fast as we can?"

"We are flying to their aid, yes, but as of yet they have need of none. That is to say, we suspect that whatever it is will come into contact with the dwarves next, and we fly against that eventuality. They are not there at this moment, and we should not waste our energy while we can yet preserve it. It would be better for everyone if we were able to arrive fresh and ready to do our worst." Said Eragon. Behind him, Murtagh nodded in agreement.

Miles did her best not to scowl, but she disliked being wrong. She nodded tersely, and hid her face by turning to retrieving her saddlebags from Eværín's back.

_I do not understand your ire, young one._ He said, while she fumbled with the numerable buckles and straps to release the pouches with the things she'd need for the night.

_Neither do I. I never do._ She sighed, sitting back a moment and her hands stilling. She closed her eyes for a few quiet seconds. _Maybe I've finally gone and lost my mind._

_I do not think you've gone mad,_ chuckled Eværín, _not yet._

_How comforting._ Miles undid the last buckle from the saddle and slid off his back, a blanket and some other supplies thrown over one shoulder. Thad was waiting for her on the ground.

Murtagh had gone to gather firewood, and Eragon sat against a fallen log near the middle of the clearing, chewing something that looked like some long piece of oddly colored grass. He stared sightlessly into the trees.

"What are you doing?" asked Miles, sitting cross-legged across from him. Thad sat down beside her.

Eragon seemed not to hear her for a moment, his brown eyes wide and swirling with thought, but after a brief moment of listlessness he deliberately took the grass from his mouth and blinked.

"This?" He said, holding it up. Miles nodded. "It's a hawkspur root. Where I grew up, people would chew on it to regain their strength." He smiled faintly. "It not harmful, but it doesn't exactly restore anything. Still, it grows just about everywhere."

She nodded again, and they all waited in silence for Murtagh to return. Miles had thought that when he did, some kind of conversation might once again resume, but the camp remained as silent as ever.

It was a good hour or two before anyone truly spoke again; they started a fire, and had food cooking. Everyone stared around, presumably comfortable inside their own thoughts for the time being.

However, Miles had had enough time brooding during her time in Ellesméra, and was itching to talk about anything and everything. She would ask Eragon a question, but she only wanted to ask him about the Northern Wastes, and she was unsure if she was willing to disclose just how much trust she had irreplaceably put into a children's tale.

Murtagh was as silent and brooding as ever – though Miles would have liked to speak with him, she doubted she could get more than a line or two in response. So, she resolved to talk to Thad, who sat cross-legged as she did, leaning against Velęs's side. His eyes were half closed, and his arms crossed, and he looked near to sleep.

She sighed; this was going to get boring, and fast.

She wished she had something to read, but she had not anticipated any sort of boredom on their way to the dwarves. Besides, it would have been the height of dis-courteousness to take a scroll from even the small library of the quarters she'd been given to stay in.

She leaned forward, her head in her hands, and began to draw small shapes in the dirt beside her, as someone less than half her age would.

"Bored?" Asked Eragon, who seemed to have snapped into reality once more.

"A bit," She said, her voice muted. She brushed her hand over the elaborate scene she'd been attempting to outline.

"I think this might be the first time you've never had anything to say, or to ask."

"It's too quiet for questions,"

"It's never too quiet for questions," he said, "Come on; there must be something you want to know. Perhaps one of us will know the answer." Murtagh and Thad were now looking at them both.

"Alright," She said slowly, dusting her hands of dirt and bracing them on her knees. _What's the harm?_ She thought. "What do you know of the Northern Wastes?" She asked.

"The Northern Wastes?" He said, surprised. "Well – they're just that, wastes. Nothing lives there, or nothing of much import. Blusteringly cold, I'd imagine. I've never been there. No one knows where they end, but they begin past Du Weldenvarden, which is father than I've ever been, leastways in that direction."

"I can't imagine why someone might venture into the Wastes," Said Murtagh. It was the first time Miles had heard his voice; she had expected it to be rough from misuse, but it had a strange clarity to it – like brass. "In all my time in the north I never truly went into the Wastes, to do so for more than a day or two would be suicide. You would not want to carry too many supplies with you, but the land is too barren to live off of. When given the choice between exile to the Wastes or death, criminals always choose death."

"What is your interest in the Wastes?" asked Eragon. Now it was Miles's turn to give a dry smile.

"I thought I was asking questions." She said, but shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just a curiosity." She felt Thad's eyes on her, but she did not meet him. She knew he thought of the old Children's Tale, but she did not wish to discuss it with him, nor could they without telling Murtagh and Eragon as well – and something in her mind warned her against that.

"Well, I wouldn't suggest a visit there, in any case," Said Eragon, getting up to tend to the fire. She nodded meekly, and silence once again descended on the camp. Miles was surprised that Eragon did not have Thad and herself get in more practice with their new weapons.

After a quiet meal, they all bid each other good night in subdued voices and one by one drifted off to sleep.

The next day they reached Kirtan, where the elves once again welcomed them. They were shown equal hospitality of that which they received in Ellesméra, though the city was noticeably different. She was not given the opportunity to see much of it, though, as they left but an hour after they awoke the next morning.

"We'll not rush to Farthen Dûr, and exhaust ourselves in the process," Repeated Eragon, "But it would be unwise to dawdle."

So, they set forth once more; this time for Ília Feön.

A direct route to the next city would have forced them to fly across the northeastern reaches of the Hadarac Desert, which was something no one was eager to do. So, instead, they stuck to the edges of Du Weldenvarden, and moved with a swiftness that was refreshing after so much time spent in one place, especially with so much rain.

The journey took nearly three days, but was not taxing. They rested in the city for a night, the sixth night of their journey, and departed the next morning in much the same manner as they had before.

"We'll have to come back to these cities one day," Said Thad, as they all walked out to where they were to take off on the next leg of their journey – the longest one, though, not by too terribly much.

They were to fly as directly as possible to the river Az Ragni, and follow that until the Beor Mountains were upon them. From there, they would turn and follow the western fork of the river to Tarnag. If their luck held, and they did not meet trouble, they would be in the city before sunrise five days hence. From there, they would fly low through the Beor Mountains to reach Farthen Dûr itself in a day or two.

Though, whatever they were flying to aid the dwarves against was supposedly traversing just this area, and for all they know, could be looking out for just such travelers to satiate their appetites.

Or perhaps that was just her imagination.

* * *

A.N. - well, I hope this was less boring/filler-esque than the last one! I'm rather satisfied with it, but then again, I did write it, and that can make me a poor judge of it's quality. I didn't get to the action-y parts in this chapter I was hoping to get to, but I didn't want to make it too long and leave something that might be important out. Hope it's not too shabby!


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